


Siblings, Spiders, and Squirrels! Oh My!

by Ragman_Jack



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Adoption, F/M, Family, Gen, Too Many Characters To Shake A Stick At
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragman_Jack/pseuds/Ragman_Jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark never planned on a family, or what happened once he had one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wake Up

Tony Stark was not asleep. Well, half asleep. Dozing, really. Then again, he had a warm snuggly redheaded wife in his arms and really, who needed sleep?

"Husbands," said wife murmured. "Husbands who should be asleep instead of verbalizing their thoughts."

Tony winced. "Sorry, dear."

Pepper Potts (she'd refused to change her name simply because she'd gotten married) opened one eye to give him death glare #4, muttered something about having Natasha dissect his brain, and then closed her eyes again and went back to sleep.

"Your pardon, Sir," said a calm, melodic voice. It seemed to come from everywhere and evoked the image of a butler, in full butler gear, nose raised slightly, and stubborn as a bulldog. Which was the point, since Tony had patterned Jarvis' base personality off the butler Tony's family had had as a child.

"Jarvis, it is . . ." Tony looked around for a clock.

"Five forty-five in the morning, Sir."

"Yes, five forty-five in the morning, and I specifically recall programming an alpha priority command about this sort of thing."

"Indeed you did, Sir. However, there is also a list of exemptions to that command. In this case, exemption number fifteen, sub category six."

Which meant the twins were arguing and the kitchen was the battleground. Lovely. Exactly how Tony wanted to start the day.

"Your turn," Pepper groaned.

"She's your goddaughter," Tony pointed out, but he was already pushing back the covers. Jarvis helpfully directed one of the track lights towards the pair of boxers and a robe that he'd learned the hard way to keep handy. Especially over the past year.

"And you adopted him," Pepper responded smugly. "Both of them, in fact."

"Yes, and right now I'm trying to remember why." Tony pulled on the boxers and robe and slid his feet into slippers.

"Sir, I do advise you to hurry," Jarvis said. "I remind you that Doctor Foster is in residence and that she was fairly detailed in her intentions should the children ever disturb her slumber again. At present rate of contention, the noise level will be sufficient within the next five minutes."

"On my way, Jarvis," Tony sighed. "On my way."

"Bring coffee when you're done," Pepper called after him.

\-------------------------------------

Flour was everywhere. In fact, the kitchen was covered in it. The very large kitchen that Tony was regretting having installed or at least not having locked down. Mental note, wire Jarvis directly into the kitchen.

In the middle, directly over the center island, hanging from the glass rack, two teenagers hung upside down, shouting at each other and hurling what Tony thought was bits of pastry. According to Jarvis, the argument had started over exactly when Thor's birthday was, and what was appropriate for a Norse God's birthday breakfast, which had been when the food fight started. Since both kids could bench press small cars with ease, the kitchen had reached its current state in an incredibly short rate of time.

Picking up a metal spoon, Tony whacked the implement against the side of the refrigerator several times. "Jarvis told me the whole story," Tony said. "Get down from there." Both teenagers obeyed, making no noise as they landed, to the point of barely disturbing the flour on the floor and then they stood there, hanging their heads. "I thought we talked about this." Tony said. "In fact, I know we did. In fact, I'm pretty sure Jarvis has a recording of it."

"Indeed, sir," Jarvis agreed. "Along with the fifteen previous times this discussion has occurred."

"Fourteen," Doreen Green disagreed. "That time with the blender doesn't count."

"Agent Romanoff disagrees," Jarvis replied, "and it was her blender."

Peter Parker snickered. "He's got you there, Dorrie."

"I remind you, sir," Jarvis pointed out, "that you were directly complicit in the events leading up to the blender going rogue."

"He's got ya there, Petey," Doreen responded. A year in New York had erased most of her Alabama accent, but not all and it sometimes came out at the oddest times.

"What you both have," Tony said, "is a wrecked kitchen and a house full of caffeine addicts, three of whom are trained assassins, Doctor Foster knows about 20 ways to kill you with Science, and Pepper controls your allowances."

"But we didn't touch the coffee maker," Peter protested. As though on cue, the coffee maker made an buzzing noise and then sparked noisily. 

Tony sniffed the air, then frowned. "My beautiful, wonderful children whom I love dearly for some reason that currently eludes me, why does the coffee maker smell like fermented products of which neither of you are anywhere near old enough to so much as look at funny?" He surveyed the kitchen again, this time noting the home brewing kit on the counter, and the giant beer stein next to it. "Beer? You were using the coffee maker to make beer?"

"Instant mead," Doreen corrected. "We found the recipe online. Mister Chemistry just messed up." Her tail, caked in flour, swished back and forth. 

"Me?" Peter exclaimed. "You jostled my elbow!"

"Did not!"

"Too!"

Tony hit the fridge again with the spoon. "No allowance, either of you, for the foreseeable future and you will clean up this mess. Jarvis, call down to the Tower's cafeteria kitchen and have coffee and a full continental breakfast sent up. We'll put it in the dining room."

"Very good, Sir," Jarvis replied as Doreen and Peter trudged out of the room in search of cleaning supplies. "I have also taken the liberty ordering a new coffee maker and updating the search filters." 

"Yeah, thanks, Jarvis," Tony mused. As a rule, Jarvis did not directly monitor Peter and Doreen's internet activity - Tony believed rather strongly in internet privacy - but he was a parent now and apparently, There Were Rules About This Sort Of Thing.

Tony opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of mineral water, letting his mind drift back over the past year. Not that he'd change a damn thing, but right now, he needed to remember.


	2. Doreen

1 year ago . . .

Husband.

Tony Stark had worn many titles over the years, some repeatable, some not. But not husband. Husband. Husband husband husband. What a word. Why that word to describe a married man? Why not "not-wife"? Or "Male-half" or for that matter, now that he thought about it, where did the word wife come from? He'd have to look that up sometime.

"The term husband is Norse, sir," Jarvis informed him. "Most likely from the original word for householder. Wife, originally from the Proto-Germanic word for 'woman'." 

"Jarvis, can't you let me know when I'm verbalizing thoughts?"

"That is the thirty-ninth time you have made that request since I came online, Sir. A variety of methods, subtle and otherwise, have been attempted in order to comply with your request. When you are 'In the Zone', Sir, a frequent occurrence, the only ways to get your attention usually involve Ms. Potts or Colonel Rhodes."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Also, Sir, I must inform you that efforts to comply with these requests are a drain on resources."

Tony frowned. "Jarvis, just how many of those unfulfilled requests are currently active?"

"Eliminating requests and commands being unfullfilled due to supplies and physical resources in transit from vendors and requests made under Protocol forty-seven, Six thousand, seven hundred and four. They range from a request for 'Space Wheaties' on a daily basis to yesterday, when you used Alpha Priority and demanded enough tequila to get the Hulk drunk, an order Ms Potts has vetoed using her own Alpha Priority clearance. The conflict remains."

"Oh." Space Wheaties? "Um, cancel those six thousand pending requests and anything else not related to current projects, Stark Industries, The Avengers, or resupply."

"And the conflict, Sir?"

"Yeah. No tequila. Cancel that."

"Very good, Sir."

"Space Wheaties, Jarvis?"

"I can't imagine."

"Add that to the list of projects; Invent Space Wheaties."

"I must inform you, Sir, that Ms. Potts, Colonel Rhodes, Captain Rogers, Agent Coulson and Director Fury, have all filed their own priority commands that they be informed should you ever try inventing new foods or attempt anything more complicated than coffee."

"Is this about the food processor? Because I took out the AI core and it hasn't attacked anyone in like, a month."

"Sir, there is a young lady in the tower lobby requesting to see Ms Potts. Demanding, actually."

"Pepper's not here. Come back later. Bored now."

"The young lady is insistent, Sir. She came all the way from Alabama to see Ms. Potts. She claims to have no where else to go."

Tony tapped his fingers on the workbench. He wasn't stupid, the whole thing smelled like an attempt a con, but hell, he was bored and running rings around con artists was fun. "Who else is in the building?"

"Captain Rogers and Agent Barton are in the gym, and Agent Coulson is in his workspace doing paperwork. Doctor Banner is in his quarters." Which covered security concerns or the need for backup in case the girl was more than she seemed.

"Bring her up, Jarvis."

\------------------------------

The girl was cute as a button. Short reddish hair peeking out from under a battered purple beret framed a freckled face with dark eyes, a slightly broad nose and a smiling mouth. She wore a a heavy coat the same color as the Beret that came down to her knees which revealed the legs of a battered pair of jeans with feet stuffed into an equally battered pair of shoes. Even the coat, the newest part of her wardrobe, was looking a bit shabby. She carried a backpack on one shoulder and a large cloth suitcase in her hands. 

"You," Tony said, flopping onto one of the couches, martini in hand, "have five minutes. Go."

Within two minutes, he was calling for Coulson. 

At the end of the five minutes, in Malibu, Pepper Potts' phone rang. 

By midnight, she was back in New York.

\-----------------------------

"Explain it again," Pepper said, a scotch and soda in hand. "Doreen, right?" 

"Yes, Ma'am. Doreen Samantha Green. My momma and you were in college," the girl began, hands clasped between her knees. She had not removed her coat and backpack and suitcase were at her feet. "And one night, she asked ya to be godmother to me."

"Yes, I remember that night," Pepper said. "I also remember we were drunk and that she was still a virgin."

"Yeah, I came along a bit later. She hadda go home to take care of her momma and you fell out of touch."

Pepper nodded when Coulson and the other Avengers looked at her. "It's true, Markie's mother had a stroke and she had to drop out. We kept in touch until I graduated. I was too busy to keep up my end and the letters stopped coming." She took a long drink. "She was the best fashion designer I'd ever seen too."

"Um, she never studied that," Doreen said, "Momma was an English major. Couldn't sew worth a hill of beans and you never let her try after that time she mended your suit and then it fell off when you were under the falls at Blackberry Farm."

"Damn," Pepper whispered and Tony saw belief wash across her face. "I swore her to secrecy about that."

"Towards the end, Momma told me a lot of stories. Said you were important now and wouldn't believe me without proof because everyone wants to lie to important people."

"May I ask what happened to her?" Coulson asked, tablet computer in hand.

"Momma got sick. Powerful sick. I did what I could, but she and Daddy insisted I go to school and keep up my studies. Daddy tried his best, but he had to work more than ever and when Momma got sicker, well, his poor heart just couldn't keep up. An' when he was gone, Momma got sadder and sadder. That's when she told me all the stories, Ma'am. You and Chad Bromhill, and the time in Sophmore year when you and she went to the Gamma Delta--"

"Yes. Okay. You know all of Markie's stories," Pepper interrupted. 

"Anyways Ma'am, last Monday, I went to bring Momma her tea and help her to the bathroom, and . . . and she wasn't sad anymore. Wasn't anythin'." Doreen wiped her eyes on her coat sleeve. "When I told the welfare lady that my godmother was in New York, well, she packed me on a bus straightaway. Didn't have much time to pack, either. Landlord was in a powerful hurry to clean the place out. Lost Daddy's prize collection of Nascar plates. Ugly as sin, Momma said, but well, they were his. Had to scramble just to get the photo album before he threw it out in the dumpster. Welfare lady wasn't in the mood for me to stand around and had me at the bus depot by sunset that day. Bus at sunrise the next mornin' an' here I am."

"Wait a minute." Jane Foster came around the couch. "She made you wait at the depot overnight . . . unsupervised . . and then you were on a bus for a week?" 

"Well the bus had to go to Nashville an' Chicago first," Doreen admitted. "An' then Boston after that. It was cheaper that way, I guess. Ms Conston didn't exactly take kindly to me on account . . ."

"On account of what?" Pepper demanded. Doreen, however, seemed to shrink in upon herself and she looked frightened.

"Miss," Coulson pointed out. "We are checking into your story. If you're hiding something, we will find it. It's better to tell us now."

"Momma didn't like me talkin' 'bout it. She loved me, but she didn't know how to handle things."

"What things?" Pepper demanded.

"Doreen, its okay." Jane sat next to the girl. "Whatever it is, we're not gonna hate you." She laid a hand on the girl's back and then froze, staring at her hand. "Doreen . . . what?"

Sighing, Doreen stood, undid her coat, and let it fall. Silence reigned and then Clint Barton stood up on the couch and pointed. "That . . . IS AWESOME!" Rising just over Doreen's head was a fluffy, broad tail the same color as her hair. The tip curled slightly and the whole thing seemed to puff up just a little at Barton's enthusiastic words.

"Barton!" Coulson snapped.

"But it's awesome!" Barton pointed out. "She's like, a Squirrel Girl!" He grinned again and then folded up as Natasha rammed her elbow into the side of his leg.

"You're going to scare her," she said.

"No. It's okay," Doreen admitted. "Squirrel Girl's what Daddy called me. I don't mind."

Tony flicked a glance around the room. No one seemed angry, or hateful, just varying degrees of surprise and both Natasha and Coulson had their usual neutral expressions on. Which was kind of a relief as Tony wasn't sure how to react if one of his fellow Avengers turned out to be a bigot. 

Throw them off the landing terrace, probably.

"I'm a mutant, I guess," Doreen continued. "Stronger than Daddy's truck, got claws and teeth, tail grew in when I was ten." She looked down as her coat started chittering and wiggling before a squirrel with yellowish gray fur wiggled its way out of one of the pockets and scampered into Doreen's lap where it chittered again.

"I told you, Joe," Doreen said to it. "We're in New York. I had to find a new place with Momma and Daddy gone." She looked up at them. "This is Monkey Joe, he's my closest friend. Joe, this is Ms. Pepper. Momma wanted her to be my new Momma if anything happened to her." Joe regarded Pepper intently and then gave a very human shrug before climbing Doreen's arm and perching on her shoulder. "An' . . . I can talk to squirrels."

"Cool, someone to keep those vermin off my balcony," Tony shrugged and then flinched backwards as Joe let out a screech and chattered angrily at Tony, shaking his paw.

"Tony . . . he understood you." Steve sounded awed. "He understands English."

"Joey! You stop that right now!" Doreen pulled Joe into her lap while her free hand dug some nuts from the coat's pocket. Joe stopped chittering and examined the nuts before selecting one and curling up in Doreen's lap, watching Tony balefully. "Joe's really smart," Doreen explained, petting Joe's back. "Like, people smart. An' he's got opinions."

"Dude, apologize to the squirrel," Barton told Tony, bouncing back to his feet. "You insulted his people."

Joe nodded firmly.

"I am not apologizing to a--" Tony started to say and then blinked as Joe hurled a piece of nut at his chest and then chittered angrily.

"Joe!" Doreen looked embarrassed. "You're not suposta use those kinda words."

Tony blinked again. "Did I just get bitched out by a squirrel?"

"Like a boss," Barton informed him. "Bitched out. By a squirrel. Like a fucking boss."

Coulson stood up and jerked his head towards the kitchen. Pepper rose to her feet, and she, Tony, and Coulson left the room.

\---------------------------

"Background check run." Coulson informed them as the kitchen door slid shut. "Markie Cross did marry one John D. Green and they did have one daughter, Doreen. John died of a heart attack six months ago, and Cross of terminal cancer last week. No medical insurance, no money for travel, so no treatment. Doreen's school picture matches our guest out there and there's several Facebook pages with her name and picture on them." Coulson paused. "All of them are hate pages," he added quietly. "Doreen's fingerprints are on file with the Alabama state police, and she gave her thumbprint when the lobby guard had her sign in. They're a match."

"Pepper?" Tony asked.

"Ms. Potts," Coulson continued, "even if her caseworker in Alabama is a fucking disgrace of a human being, and she is, this is New York. Social Services will have picked up the case and we're likely to have an agent here tomorrow morning, if not sooner. I have to tell you, it's unlikely they'll let her stay. The dangers presented by being around the Avengers aside, well, to be blunt, Tony Stark is not the sort of person most people see as a good foster parent. SHIELD can help you work the system, but even if the caseworker lets her stay, there's gonna be a lot of public outcry."

Pepper looked at Tony who smiled. "I'm game if you are," he said.

Pepper Potts stared at the tile, but she wasn't seeing it. What she saw was hours of conversation in their dorm room, shoulders cried on and shared secrets. Her mind flashed back over homework, college boys, and summer jobs . . . and one drunken rain soaked night of plans for the future that neither of them ever thought would come to pass.

"She was my first best friend," Pepper admitted in a low voice. "Tony . . . I don't know if I can . . . what if I mess up?"

"Then we'll put things to rights," Tony replied, "that's what we do. Pep . . . it's your call. No matter what, I'm behind you a hundred percent."

Pepper stared at the tile of the counter again and then took a deep breath. She wasn't sure if it was the right decision, but it was the only one she could make.

\------------------------

Everyone looked up when they returned. Thor had been in the middle of telling some epic story which involved much gesturing and Joe was now perched on the Asgardian's head, looking smug. 

Tony stared around the room and took a deep breath. "Doreen," he said with heavy finality. "I'm sorry . . ." the girl's face fell and she reached for her coat. "But," he continued, "your curfew is going to be at ten and lights out by midnight. We'll start the adoption paperwork in the morning, and you can take on Stark as your last name if you want. Pepper didn't, but maybe you'll have better taste. Jarvis, do we have any rooms in this dump where a Squirrel Girl might feel at home?"

"Several," Jarvis replied.

Doreen grinned hugely and then leapt off of the couch and hugged Tony, lifting him off his feet. Then she did the same to Pepper.

"Come, friends!" Thor boomed. "We must fetch food and drink! For we celebrate an addition to the House of Stark this night!"

"No!" Pepper held up one hand. "It is after midnight, I am jet lagged, and as Tony said, Doreen needs to be in bed by midnight, with the lights out and it is nearly one. Tomorrow will be filled with lawyers and paperwork and I, for one, would like to get some sleep before then. No celebrating."

"But big feast for dinner tomorrow," Tony added.

\--------------------------------

The next morning, Doreen was woken by the soft chimes of the alarm she'd set.

"Good morning, Ms Green," Jarvis said, "it is Six forty-five am and the weather is partly cloudy with a thirty percent chance of rain. It is currently sixty-four degrees outside. You do not have any items on your schedule."

Next to Doreen's head, Joe opened one eye, grumbled disgruntedly and then he too sat up. _Noisy._

Doreen yawned and pushed the blankets back. "You can sleep in if you want, Joey," she told him. "But Ms. Pepper asked me to be up by seven thirty. The social worker's probably coming today."

 _The same one?_ Joe shook his tail. _I get to bite her this time._

"No biting," Doreen repeated, and ignoring the ladder that led to the sleeping loft, dropped the ten feet to the floor. "We don't bite."

"Are you all right, Ms. Green?" Jarvis asked.

"I'm fine Jarvis, just getting out of the loft." Doreen frowned. "Weren't you watchin?"

"As a matter of privacy, I do not watch the bedrooms directly unless asked or the building is under lockdown. However, I can detect the vibrations caused by footsteps or someone falling."

"Oh. Guess I made a big bump."

"Indeed. Will you be customarily leaving the loft in that manner in the future?"

Doreen looked up at the loft as Joe descended the ladder. _Foolishness,_ he announced and padded his way into the bathroom, which had fascinated Doreen to no end. The trailer she'd lived in with her parents was a double wide and the room was easily as big as the trailer had been. Plus it had a bathroom with a both a shower and a bathtub and the floor didn't freeze your toes off. For his part, Joe thought that while toilets were a foolish use of water, it was better than then digging in the dirt and burying . . . stuff.

"Probably," Doreen admitted. "I'll try not to though if it bothers you."

"Your concern is appreciated, Ms. Green, but I am merely attempting to learn your morning habits to better anticipate your needs."

"Don't need much," Doreen said, wandering over to the window and staring out over the city. "Never had much to need."

Joe announced, exiting the bathroom. He began to rummage in Doreen's coat.

 _Hex damp, Mr. Joe,_ Jarvis said. Joe stared at the ceiling, mouth open, and Doreen covered her mouth to stifle her giggles.

 _What by the Long Cold is that supposed to mean?_ Joe demanded.

"He's trying to speak squirrel, Joe," Doreen explained, crouching to get the nuts out for Joe.

_He's bad at it._

"Ah, I seem to have given offense," Jarvis said.

"It's okay," Doreen assured him. "What were you trying to say?"

"Good morning."

"Oh. It's _Good Morning_ ," Doreen told him. She gave Joe one nut and took a few more for herself. The bone spike slid from her wrist and she opened the nuts with a few practiced blows. "I should shower, I guess," she told Joe.

 _More foolishness,_ Joe opined.

\-----------------------------

As a rule, Tony rose when Pepper did and Pepper hadn't had much sleep. They'd both been up since four in the morning and Pepper had been plagued with doubts and second guesses. By the time the rest of the Avengers had gotten up, they'd burned through two pots of coffee and were waiting on the third. 

As was customary, they gathered in the kitchen around the central island, perched on barstools and coffee mugs clasped in both hands, eyes bleary. 

"Greetings, oh daughter who is not of my loins!" Tony called out as Doreen entered, Joe perched on her shoulder. "Which would be strange if you were since I distinctly remember being put under for a procedure that-" Pepper clapped her hand over Tony's mouth.

"Good Morning," Jane told her with a tired smile. "There's juice and milk in the fridge. Tea by the stove if you want it, but don't touch the Darjeeling or the Green Blossom."

"Or coffee," Tony added. "There's always coffee."

"Young ladies do not need coffee," Jane opined.

"And when did you start drinking coffee?" Barton asked.

"At fifteen, so I speak from experience," Jane replied. 

"Can't drink it anyway," Doreen admitted. "Caffine tears my stomach up something fierce. So does hot dogs, chili, a lot of the spicy and greasy stuff." She opened the fridge and found herself confronted with a rack of every type of juice she could possibly imagine. After a moment, she selected the orange juice and Bruce pointed out the glasses to her. "Caused Momma no end of trouble when she did the shopping. I mostly eat nuts and fruit. Eggs here and there, and sometimes, bits of chicken when it's been skinned. Stuff like that." She smiled sadly. "Daddy kept saying that with the amount of rabbit food he was eating, he was gonna sprout ears and a tail." Pepper indicated the empty barstool next to her and Doreen climbed on and Joe scamped down her arm and began examining the counter surface.

 _What is this?_ Joe demanded. He tapped it with his claws. _I don't like it._

"And for our new furry friend," Tony announced, retrieving a covered bowl and a small, doll sized bowl filled with water. "Gourmet nuts, retrieved from uptown just this morning by a Stark Industries intern who was not fast enough to elude my deadly aim of 'You answered the phone, therefore you are available to do something for me'." With a flourish, he removed the bowl cover, revealing a sampling of what was probably every kind of nuts in existence.

Joe sniffed the bow, whiskers twitching. _I am not your friend_ he informed Tony primly, _But I forgive your earlier transgression._ Then he launched himself into the bowl, scattering nuts everywhere.

"Joey!" Doreen gasped. "Mind your manners!"

"Your pardon, Sir," Jarvis broke in, "but there is an agent from Social Services here to see you and Ms. Potts."

"Send him up," Tony replied and drained the coffee mug. "Show time."

\-----------------------

Sam Wilson was as tall as Captain America, and almost as broad. One look at his face said that he was a hardass and took no shit from anyone. He did not accept Tony's invitation to join the Avengers for breakfast and he looked the entire penthouse over with a critical eye. Barton had been exiled to his room and Bruce had taken his breakfast down to the lab. Jane had taken Thor back to his room, and Natasha had politely excused herself. Steve was around somewhere and Coulson sat nearby, apparently working intently on his computer.

"What game are you running here, Stark?" Wilson demanded once they were back in the kitchen. Barton had returned there and was intent on making what appeared to be the world's biggest sandwhich.

"No game," Tony replied, completely relaxed and comfortable. "We can't have children, and so we're adopting."

"Bull." Wilson jabbed a finger at Tony's nose. "Some rich playboy living in a house full of lunatics comes waltzing into my city and adopts? Ain't buying it. Give me one good reason to believe you, Stark, and if any part of that includes offering some kind of donation to Social Services, I swear to God, I will take this girl out of here so fast your heads won't stop spinning until we put a man on Mars."

"You want something to buy?" Tony leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes hard. "Fine. My parents were killed in a car crash. My so called godfather had me in a succession of boarding schools followed by six years at MIT before hauling my butt off to Malibu where he bamboozled my happy ass into spending nearly twenty years of coming up with new ways to kill people. My parents wouldn't have won awards, but up until they died, I damn well had a home. But even if none of that applied, there's still this." Tony held up his hand to show Wilson his wedding band. "Pepper is Doreen's godmother, but I made promises when I put this on and Pepper's fight is my fight and I fight to win. I know what it means to be uprooted and tossed somewhere new and the least I can do is make damn sure that Doreen has access to a fair chance, the best schools, and a future, one that she chooses and the support she needs to make it happen. You worry about bad influences? She's down the hall from Captain America and a Norse God. Safety? We're the Avengers and as for money, I'm Tony Goddamn Stark. You buy that, Wilson?"

For a moment, the two men stared at each other and then Wilson nodded. "As a matter of fact, I do." He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a stack of forms at least three inches thick. "I'll need these filled out ASAP." He grinned at Tony's expression. "Hope you didn't have anything else planned for the day, Stark."

At that moment, Joe emerged from the bowl of nuts, looking immensely satisfied. _That was adequate,_ he declared.

"What is that?" Wilson asked.

"This is Monkey Joe," Doreen said. "Um, I can talk to squirrels, you see. He's really smart and he's my best friend. He's really not any trouble, Mr. Wilson."

"He got his shots and license?"

If Tony had thought Joe had been angry over his remark about squirrels, that was nothing compared to the tirade Joe unleashed on Wilson, complete with paw shaking, screeching and foot stomping that ended with Joe hurling an unshelled walnut at Wilson's chest and a paw pointed at the door. Doreen's face was bright red and her eyes so wide in horror and embarrassment, Tony felt incredibly bad for her and at the same time, so very very glad he didn't speak squirrel. 

"While Stark and Potts get started on their paperwork," Coulson said smoothly, "there's some forms you'll need to sign as well." He escorted Wilson from the kitchen.

"Dude," Barton exclaimed from the other side of the Island, "that was awesome! Gimme five!" he held out his hand and Joe slapped it and then turned to Doreen and chittered, pointing at Barton.

"Joe!" Doreen turned even redder. "I told you, I ain't old enough for that stuff yet."

"Did the squirrel just suggest what I think he did?" Tony asked.

"Joe's smart, but he's not quite clear on that humans grow up different," Doreen admitted. "He thinks if we'd just be more like squirrels, humans wouldn't be so primitive." 

"He's kind of got a point," Barton mused. "Sittin' around naked, running around in trees, sleeping all winter, I could get behind that."

"You'd be bored inside of two minutes," Natasha informed him, stealing one of Barton's potato chips and making everyone but Barton jump because they hadn't seen her come in.

"This is true."

Tony and Pepper sighed and then they each picked up a pen and went to work.

\---------------------------------

Doreen's clothes were well cared for, but not in the best condition and she'd packed haphazardly. Tony vaguely remembered being a teenager and if memory served, teenagers had their own ideas about clothing and room decoration and what not. 

Solution; Give Doreen his credit card and turn her loose in the shopping district, an idea Jane nixed the moment she heard it. No teenager alive needed an unlimited shopping budget or would have any practical idea (Tony argued that when your budget was unlimited, what was the point of being practical?) what do with one. Instead, she, Pepper, and Natasha, along with Barton and Steve to play pack mule, ventured into the Village and SoHo and returned with several armloads of clothing, decorations, bedding and footwear for well under ten thousand dollars which offended Tony since he owned suits that cost twice as much. Also, what was the point of being dad if he couldn't spoil the hell out of his kid?

The rest of the first week passed without incident.


	3. Peter

Doreen's second week started off with some concern. Monday morning found her curled up in a corner of her room, hugging Monkey Joe and sobbing. After several minutes with her, Pepper emerged, and in the kitchen poured herself a glass of wine.

"Is she okay?" Bruce asked. He paused in the middle of making his breakfast and gave her an intense look. "Are you okay?" 

"Yes and no. I don't know if you've heard, but the building manager for the Tower got killed last night, so there's a lot of paperwork and stuff to do, and now Doreen is . . . she lost her dad, and then had to take care of Markie until she died, and then she got ripped from her home and sent up here and then there was all the running around getting settled in. This morning, she was thinking about how Markie made breakfast and everything hit her all at once." She downed the wine in one go and poured herself another. "I guess . . . I guess it's kind of really hit me too. I mean, Markie and i didn't really know each other that long, and God help me, I've barely given her a thought since college, but all we did together and . . ." The second glass went down and she poured a third. "On top of it all, I'm like, her mother now, and . . . I - I don't know what to do."

"Doreen finally has time to grieve," Bruce said. "It's bad if it goes on for too long, and she'll probably need to talk to someone whose not any of us, but she'll pull through." He thought for a moment and then scribbled on a piece of paper. "Here. I know a guy. He's down in Virginia last I heard, but . . ." Something passed across Bruce's face. It looked almost like guilt. "But he's a good . . . a good man." 

"Bruce, do you need someone to talk to?" Pepper asked. 

More then even I know, I suspect," Bruce said with a grin. "But it's been that way for a long time, Pepper, and isn't likely to change soon." Finishing up, he turned to the door. "We all want to help the ones we care about, but sometimes, the best way to handle someone's problem is to do nothing." With that, he left. 

Alone in the kitchen, Pepper stared down at the glass of wine and then dumped it down the sink. Drinking did not count as doing nothing, she was sure, and there were things to do that her husband preferred to avoid. 

\---------------------------------------------

Just before noon, Sam Wilson showed up with a young boy in tow. He looked to be about Doreen's age and had the expression of someone who'd had their entire world yanked out from under them and was still in the process of falling to the ground. But he perked up somewhat when he saw Tony and got to shake his hand and there was several minutes of what Tony could only describe as rampant fanboying. Then his face really lit up when Steve, who'd been passing through, offered to take him on a tour of the penthouse.

"Damn shame, that kid," Wilson said as soon as they'd left the room. "Peter lost his parents when he was five, and then his aunt May and uncle Ben got killed last night."

"You mean Ben and May Parker?" Tony asked. 

Wilson nodded. "That's right, he ran this place, didn't he?"

"Yeah. He was a good man," Tony said, nodding. "Do you know if they caught the guy who did it?"

"Beats me." Wilson shrugged. "At this point, it sounds like you know as much as I do."

"Yeah, we did," came a new voice that sounded like smokestack at a coal plant.

Standing in the foyer was a grossly fat man with a three day stubble and rumpled, stained clothes. "Ellis Hawthorne," he said, waddling forward and holding out one fleshy hand. "NYPD." Tony shook, years of experience letting him control his expression. Hawrthorne's breath smelled like a skunk had walked into a sewer, sprayed everywhere, and then died.

Hawthorne coughed, a horrible hacking phelmic sound and took out a notebook. "So, near as we can tell, this dipshit, name of Macendale, robbed some small time wrestling event over in Midtown and ditched his ride when he got to Queens. Then, he broke into Parker's house and surprised him and his wife. Shot 'em both, stole their car and wound up at this warehouse down by the river. We were gonna surround the place and wait for Swat, when we hear gunshots and godawful screaming. Go in, there's Macendale, beaten black and blue and strung up like a fly in a goddamn web. Had to use a blow torch just to cut the stuff. Turns out it dissolves in an hour, go figure. I'd have left the bastard hang there until it was gone, but the bleeding hearts say we gotta give the sons of bitches medical help ASAP." He coughed again. "Anyways, Parker's nephew shows up after the fact having been off studying at the library. I'd say that's bullshit, but the kid's so puny I could break him in half with one hand and his bag is loaded down with books. Social Services hauled him off, good luck with that. Kid's gonna be lucky to make it to eighteen wherever he winds up getting dumped."

"I happen to be Peter's caseworker," Wilson said mildly, but there was a slight edge of temper in his voice. "I don't dump the children under my care."

"No shit? What are you doing here? Gonna get Stark to take the kid in?" Hawthorne gave a short, barking laugh. "No offense Stark, but I wouldn't trust you with a pet dog, much less a kid." He took out a piece of paper. "I gotta pull Parker's HR stuff, lady in the office says you gotta countersign the request." He slapped the paper down on a nearby table. "You need a pen?" Hawthorne began slapping at the pockets of his coat. "I got one somewhere. Yeah, here." He held out a battered old pen that looked almost as bad as its owner.

"Thanks," Tony murmured. For one brief moment, simply because it meant having to spend time in Ellis Hawthorne's company, Tony hated the policy of signing off on all requests for Stark Industries records whether it be by the police, the media, or some third party. He quickly scrawled his signature on the paper (the pen leaked) and handed both back and discreetly wiped his hands on his pants.

"Thanks, Stark." Hawthorne waddled back to the elevator. 

"Jarvis, schedule the elevator be fumigated and cleaned," Tony said, wiping his hands on his pants again. "And make sure Janis gets a bonus for having to talk to that guy. File it under hazard pay or something."

"Of course sir."

Tony stared down at his hands. He needed to wash his hands. And take a shower. Maybe throw his clothes in the incinerator. "You know what, we'll do it."

"Do what?" Wilson asked.

"Peter. We'll do it. We'll take him. Start the paperwork. "

"Sir, this may be a decision you will want to discuss with Ms. Potts first," Jarvis pointed out. 

"You should listen to the computer, Stark," Wilson smirked. "Sounds like it has better sense than you do." He clapped Tony on the shoulder. "That metal tuxedo of yours might be the best armor ever, but no way in hell will it keep you safe if your woman is mad at you."

Tony grimaced. Wilson was probably right, but taking Peter in felt right . Like being Iron Man, or marrying Pepper. It was something he had to do.

"Tell you what though," Wilson continued, "I'll wait a couple of days before getting Peter started somewhere else." He dug into his case and pulled out some papers. "This is for Doreen. Fill 'em out and fax them back." 

At that moment, Peter returned, grinning ear to ear, but his face quickly closed down again when he saw Wilson standing there. 

"Um . . . yeah . . . thanks for the tour, Sir . . ." Peter half-mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It was awesome."

"Sure. Not a problem," Steve replied, looking slightly crestfallen at Peter's sudden lack of enthusiasm. 

"Come on, Son," Wilson said escorting the boy to the elevator, "its time to go. It'll just be a few days."

"Yeah, sure," Peter said. "Just a few days."

\-----------------------------

There were myriad other things that happened that day, most of them related to various Stark Industries facilities and projects and so Tony was unable to bring up the subject of Peter until he and Pepper were in bed.

"No, Tony," Pepper said with finality, rolling over to stare Tony in the eyes. "For God's sake, we've barely got Doreen settled here and now you want to add to it? For all we know, she'll feel threatened or that we're replacing her. It's important that the foster child know that they are loved and completely accepted and--"

"You've been reading parental psychology blogs, haven't you?"

" . . . Maybe."

"Pepper, I'm not saying that we're experts on parenting, but Doreen, she's a good kid, and Peter, so is he. I can't imagine Ben Parker not raising a son who isn't responsible and honest. That, and it feels right. Like something I have to do."

"Tony . . ."

"Isn't that the American dream? A nice house, two kids, and a dog?" A pause. "Oh God, Pepper!"

"What?"

"We have to get a dog!"

"No, Tony."

"Yes, a dog! For science! A science dog!"

"Tony, no."

\------------------------------------------

Tony had apparently forgotten about a dog by the next morning, or at least, he never brought it up, and Pepper was grateful for that. Unlike her husband, she was fully aware of what having a dog around meant and given the way the Avengers lived their lives, it just wouldn't have worked. 

Doreen was in the kitchen for breakfast as well, and while her tail was slightly droopy, she was smiling and even laughed at one of Clint's jokes. Pepper supposed that it was the best she could hope for all things considered. Especially since Markie's death still stung. Just a little.

She also couldn't get Tony's remark about the american dream out of her mind. It sat there, popping up as an idle thought, or her memories of her own siblings. Finally, she picked up the phone.

"This is Pepper Potts, Mr. Wilson," she said. "Tell me about Peter Parker."

Later, it occured to her that Wilson had brought Peter by just to plant the idea of adoption in Tony's head. But as the movers were bringing in Peter's stuff and she brought it up, Wilson simply gave her a blank look. 

"I don't know what you mean, Potts," he says. "I just came by to drop off some paperwork." But there's something in his eyes, a glint that Pepper has learned to spot.

Sam Wilson, she decided, is someone who should never be taken lightly.

\--------------------------------------------

Pepper had needed to fly to Toronto, so Tony coped with an empty bed the only way he knew how; whiskey and his workshop. 

"Your pardon, sir, but Peter is leaving the tower," Jarvis said.

"So? Pause the elevator and bring it back." Tony wondered what could be possessing Peter to leave this late at night. He'd been very clear on their curfew and bedtimes and it was after ten, confirmed by a glance at the nearest monitor. He was actually grinning as he left the workshop, since first find out why Peter was leaving and depending on that, whether or not he would punish the kid, or help him out. After all, girls (or boys, Tony didn't judge) or midnight snack runs were one thing. Disobeying the rules was another. Namely, getting caught in the process of breaking said rules. 

"That's not possible, Sir, as he has left via window."

"Win . . . where the hell did he get a rope long enough?" Tony turned on his heel and ran back to the workshop. "We're a good seventy stories up!"

"He is not using a rope, Sir, but rather is crawling down the side."

"Show me."

One of the holographic monitors switches to a security camera feed, following a lean figure dressed in red and blue crawling down the side of the building like a . . . the only term that comes to Tony's mind is a spider. "Mark, him, Jarvis."

A small rivet popped out, spraying Peter's heel with a bit of radioactive paint and then Tony was running again. This time to the armory, where he grabbed the suitcase armor and triggered the activation sequence. 

"Sir, Peter has fired some sort of web line at one off the neighboring towers and swung away to the northwest," Jarvis told him as the suitcase armor sealed itself over his chest. The paint tracer is working, though fading with distance."

"Oh good," Tony replies as the helmet unfolds, the visor comes down, and the HUD activates. He runs back to the main room and then out to the terrace. The boot engines roar, and then he's in the sky, heading northwest. 

\----------------------------

For a guy who was essentially an urban Tarzan, Peter could move, and it took Tony a few minutes to reacquire the tracer's radioactive frequency and then track him down. He found Peter in the street outside an all night grocer, wailing on three thugs. A case full of cash lay on the sidewalk nearby and from the doorway of an all night market, an elderly man watched, cheering for Peter.

Tony was no expert on hand to hand, but he knew enough to recognize that Peter was winning only through his superior speed and agility. He also recognized that while he's not trying to seriously hurt the thugs, he's still fighting like a man driven by a demon. Tony knew that demon, and knew it well. It was the demon of redemption, and you would never be free of it.

Tony waited until the bad guys were webbed up and Peter is swinging away. Curious, he followed him through the city, where Peter foiled two muggings, another robbery, several assaults of various kinds , and the rampage of some jackhole who seemed to think that chemical adhesive was an effective weapon and if his ranting was any indication, that the Avengers were the puppet of a still very much alive John D. Rockerfeller. A few times, Jarvis reminded him that the other Avengers were gathered in the main room of the Penthouse, demanding to know why Tony took off in the armor. The only thing he can think of is "personal matter". Which sounded lame, even to him.

Finally, as Peter headed for the taller towers, Tony swooped in and grabbed him around the waist.

"Hey! What the--oh." Peter slumped in Tony's arms. "I am in so much trouble, aren't I?"

Tony didn't answer.

\------------------------------------

When they returned to the Tower, Tony can see the other Avengers through the door, Steve at their head. Tony raises his visor and he and Steve lock eyes and then Steve turned around and shooed the others away from the door. Removing his helmet completely, he turned to look at Peter, who had removed his own mask.

"Jarvis," Tony said, "Until I re-enter the tower, discontinue all audio or video monitoring of the terrace." Then he sat on the bench. "It's just you, me, and the concrete, Pete. If you want to talk, I'll listen."

Peter sat down next to him. "I got my powers about a month ago. My class was at this tour over at Morbius Biotech, and . . . well, this spider bit me." he pulled off his glove and showed Tony the faint scar on the back of his hand. "I got the speed, the agility, the strength, and the reflexes of a spider my size."

"Not that I'm one to look askance at stupid risks, but I'm pretty sure you sneaking out to beat up bad guys is on the list of things Pepper and I aren't allowed to let you do. A list we signed. Twice. Maybe three times. So why?"

"Because I have to. Because it's my responsibility."

"What? To help the cops? Sure, I suppose so as a citizen or whatever, but--"

"NO!" Peter screamed. "Because I have to! Because Aunt May and Uncle Ben are dead! Because I killed them! Don't you understand? They're dead because of me!"

Multiple responses ranging from sarcastic to incredulous ran through Tony's head and then he made himself stop and think. What would . . . . no, his father is a bad example, What would Steve Rogers do? Steve wouldn't judge, he'd listen. Get all the facts. "Alright, Peter. Start from the top. What . . . what happened that night?"

Peter pulled one leg up to his chest, resting his chin on his knee and staring at the ground. "I'd had my powers for a couple of weeks. I spent a lot of time figuring out what I could and couldn't do. Nearly got myself killed a couple of times working out how far I can jump. That's when I made the web shooters." He pulled back his sleeve to show Tony a shiny metal bracelet. Tony recognizes a pressure spray system when he sees it. The trigger is a contact in Peter's palm. "My dad . . . my real dad, was an inventor . . . there was this trunk of stuff he left behind. This was his project. The plans and materials were all there, they just . . . needed work."

"So you finished his work." Unbidden, Tony thought of the Hot Rod in his garage at the house in Malibu. The one he and his dad had been working on when the crash happened. The one, he realized as he sat there on that terrace in the New York night, that he kept finding a reason not to finish because no matter how hard he tried, Howard Stark's ghost still hangs over his head. "Then what?"

"That night, the night . . . I lied. I lied to Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and I lied to the cops . . . I lied to a lot of people. I never went to the library to study. I went to this wrestling event."

Alarm bells sounded off in Tony's head. "You don't seem like the wrestling fan type."

Peter shook his head. "I had powers, I had the web shooters, I had an Aunt and Uncle getting old . . . and I was greedy. I thought I could make some money. The Hudson Bay Association was putting on a show. Three grand for anyone who could stay in the ring with Bonesaw McGraw for three minutes. I beat him in a minute and a half. But when I went to claim my prize, the Association's head wouldn't pay up. Not his problem that I didn't read the fine print. He claimed that since I didn't go the full three minutes, I violated the terms of the offer. As I was walking out, this guy runs in with a gun, cleans him out."

"Macendale . . ." Tony breathed, the pieces lining up inside his head. 

"Is that his name?" Tears ran down Peter's cheeks. "He bursts out of the office, runs right past me. I could have stopped him. Stuck my foot out, done . . . something. And I didn't. Not my problem, right?" A sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob erupts from Peter's throat. "He even thanked me." Peter scrubbed at his eyes with one hand. "Subway broke down so by the time I got back to Queens, Aunt May and Uncle Ben were already dead. I heard some cops saying the killer had stolen their car and was holed up at the warehouse by the river." Peter looked at him, eyes red with tears. "Every kid in Queens knows about that place. You could hold off an army in there." Peter looks up at the sky. "I was angry, I was crying. I slipped past the cops, snuck up on the bad guy, and took him down. Only then did I actually look at him and I saw . . ."

"And you saw the guy you let get away," Tony finished. "The one you could have stopped, and didn't."

"Yeah. Uncle Ben always said that with great power came great responsibility and that's when I realized I'd ignored my responsibility. I had great power, and I'd been selfish and irresponsible. Don't you see? I have to do this. It's my responsibility and my fault."

Tony again made himself stop and think before speaking. He didn't do it normally, and it was hard, but he did it. He had to. Again, asking himself what Steve would do comes to his rescue.

"Peter, you're right. You did ignore your responsibility and because of that, two people are dead. But ask yourself, would you still feel the responsibility if it had been one of your neighbors? Or a stranger? Or if only Ben had been killed? Or May?" Peter flinched and looks away. "If it hadn't been Ben and May, it would have been someone else," Tony continued. "I think you know that, and that you feel guilty for wishing it had been someone else haunts you." Peter flinched again and Tony rested one metal hand on his shoulder and tapped the arc reactor with the other. "A man named Yinsen once told me that I had a choice; to sit and do nothing, leaving my life's work in the hands of murderers or I could do something about it. I chose to create Iron Man, you chose . . . Spider . . . whatever."

"Spider-Man," Peter said. "With a hyphen. Strunk and White said so."

"And who am I to argue with them," Tony said with a nod, wondering who the hell Strunk and White were. "Point is, we both realized that we failed in our responsibilities and now, we have to live up to them. So here's the deal; You put Spider-Man away. No costume, no adventures, no late nights running around the city. You go to school, do college, date, learn to drive, do all the stuff you'd do if your Aunt and Uncle hadn't been killed and you didn't have powers. When you graduate college, if you still want to be Spider-Man, there'll be a place in the Avengers for you and you can honor your responsibility to the memory of your Aunt and Uncle properly. You take the time to be Peter Parker. In return, you'll an unpaid intern for the Avengers. You'll train alongside us, and during missions, you'll help out in Mission Control or in the lab."

"What if I say no?" Peter asked.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. gets involved."

"I . . . don't think I want that."

"I knew you were a smart kid. So what will it be?"

"Can I at least keep the web shooters?"

"I don't see why not." Tony stood, picking up his helmet. "Why don't we get out of these clothes, you get your dad's stuff and meet me in the kitchen. We'll make banana splits and talk science until the sugar high wears off."

Peter actually smiled, a real, genuine smile and Tony grinned as they walk back inside. As he put his armor away, he paused. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"It's time to exorcise some ghosts. Contact Malibu and have them ship the hot rod and the parts here to New York. It's time I finished the damn thing."

"Of course, Sir."

Tony nodded. Who said parenting was hard? This was easy.


	4. Family Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Stark family has an outing, we meet Peter's friends, and Doreen has a hot fudge sundae.

For reasons Tony had never been able to fully understand, Christine Everhart of Vanity Fair had appointed herself the conscience of Stark Industries as a whole, and himself in particular. Any violation of human rights, or cost cutting that infringed on well . . . anyone, or the slightest whiff of illegal activity by anyone even slightly affiliated with Stark Industries, she pounced on and would confront him about it at the first opportunity. Usually at a press conference and no matter what conference was about, or where it was, she always showed up. She would also show up at events where Tony was, even if he was just there to mingle. How and where she got her information was a mystery, but she was always right.

Tony would have had her banned from events and conferences except for two things. One, he believed rather strongly in the first amendment and two, it had been Everhart who had first clued him in on the fact that Obediah Stane had been using Stark Industries to line his own pockets with weapons sales on the black market. Also, if he wanted to be totally honest with himself, he needed Everhart. He needed her to keep him from flying off the rails and taking Stark Industries with him. That she had legs that went from here to there and back again via the scenic route was just a bonus.

Speaking of bonuses, it was time for a Martini. Snatching up a paper cup from the water cooler, he produced a flask from his pocket and poured a full eight parts Gin (shaken, of course) into the cup. No olives, but Tony was willing to rough it now and then. 

At that moment, one of the interns ran up. "Sir! It's Everhart! She's . . . she's . . ."

"She's what? Here? Not here?"

"No, she's here. Front row."

"Well that's not unusual. Smirking or blank faced?" Tony sipped from the cup. If Everhart was smirking, it meant she had something to confront him about. Blank-faced, she was just here to watch. He took another sip.

"She's . . . she's smiling!"

"What?" Tony spat the martini out, the cup falling to the floor. "Smiling? She never smiles! She-- PEPPER!"

"Tony?" Pepper hurried over. "What is it?"

"Everhart is here."

"She's always at these things. I don't see--"

"She's smiling," Tony interrupted. 

"Like a shark," the intern added.

Pepper's face paled. "T-Tony, what did we miss?"

"I don't know. I don't know! Get Damage Control ready to rock," Tony snapped, referring to the Stark Industries PR department. Then . . . I don't know. Call the tower. Put Coulson into the loop." He pointed at the intern. "Name."

"Chris, Sir. Chris Pow--"

"Shut up. You're promoted to minion. Pepper, Frankenstein, you, Igor. Go." Igor went. "Jarvis?"

"Here, Sir," the computer's voice came over the the small earbud Tony wore. It was almost invisible to the naked eye unless you knew what to look for and was fully capable of two-way communication. All the Avengers had one now.

"Access SHIELD databases and the S.I. Records. Cross reference and see if you can figure out why Everhart is smiling. Anything you can put on standby to free up resources, do so. Ping me the moment you have something."

"As you wish," Jarvis replied. "Although, Sir, it is possible that whatever has Miss Everhart so happy may not become evident until she says something."

"I know, Jarvis, but any forewarning is good."

Tony once slept with Everhart. At times like this, he almost regretted it. 

Almost.

\-----------------------------------

Officially, the point of the press conference was to formally introduce Stark Industries' new CFO. Julia Carpenter might have been a bit young for the position, but she was dynamic, a math prodigy and carried an MBA and an Accounting degree. More importantly, she wasn't afraid to tell Tony no, actually mouthing off to him during a formal interview in front of the entire Board. He'd offered her the job on the spot. 

But Tony had another reason as well. Two, actually. One was to test Julia under fire. The second was to do that by debuting something . . . interesting. 

Now as Tony ascended the stage, he flicked a glance at the audience, immediately picking out Everhart. As Igor said, she was smiling like a shark and the rest of the press gave the impression of scavengers, waiting for her to make the kill. He'd heard that there was a bidding war out for her and to date, Vanity Fair was beating out all bids for her contract since her articles, exclusive to Vanity Fair, were driving subscriptions through the roof.

None of this showed on Tony's face as he sauntered across the stage, adding a little hop and leg shake and turning it into a boogie as he reached his mark. Ultimately, Tony Stark was a showman and Pepper had said that if Stark Industries ever collapsed, Tony would have no problem making it in show business. Which was probably a good thing since he had kids to support now. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, giving a slight nod to the group of men and women seated in the front row. They weren't reporters, but the majority stockholders (numbers 3-10) of Stark Industries. J. Jonah Jameson and Wilson Fisk in particular were the big fish. Jameson returned his nod, Fisk did not. "It is my great pleasure to introduce the new Chief Financial Officer of Stark Industries; Julia Carpenter." Next to him, Julia materialized, literally. Her appearance caused murmurs and whispers and she smiled.

"Thank you, Tony. Ladies and Gentlemen, I am so pleased to be here with you. What you are seeing is the sort of innovation that has kept Stark Industries at the top for over seventy years. This is Stark Industries brand new proprietary HoloTech. At the moment, I'm in an identical room to this one, but in Luxembourg, Germany. The only difference is that here, there's just me and the stage." She stepped off the stage and walked up the center aisle and back. "As you can see, I look real and sound real. Stark HoloTech uses a proprietary graphics technology that makes it possible to transmit over established fiber optics lines and will be commercially available within three months ranging from this conference capable setup for corporate purposes down to the home user by the end of the fiscal year." She turned on her heel and walked right through the audience, causing yelps of surprise and excitement before returning to the stage.

Everhart's smile got wider and she raised her hand. At the back of the stage, Tony sucked in his breath and rolled up onto his toes before settling back down. This was it. "Ms. Carpenter, Christine Everhart, Vanity Fair. As a woman and a mother, how do you feel about Tony Stark adopting two children and sequestering them in Avengers Tower where neither has been seen in public since?"

Tony moved. Not as bad as he thought, but he was going to have someone's head stuffed and mounted. Doreen and Peter were not ready to face the press and all of the Avengers shared Tony's opinion that the Paparazzi were pretty much small annoying garden gnomes and in the case of Natasha and Bruce, avoided speaking to the press entirely. So who the hell had opened their mouth? 

"Julia! Sorry. I should probably take this one." He shoved his hands in his pockets and resisted the urge to glare. "Christine! Always a pleasure. Let me tell you, I am really surprised by this, I mean, you could have at least asked for an interview with them." Everhart flinched, just slightly, and then inclined her head slightly in a silent apology. "But to answer your question, there has been no sequestering. Both kids have suffered personal tragedies and they need time to heal, grieve, and mourn. They also need to learn certain emergency procedures, the same as any other family. I mean, isn't that what they teach in school? How to evacuate your house if there's a fire or other emergency?"

Everhart rallied. "And you feel comfortable exposing children to the hazards and dangers implicit in living around the Avengers? Especially since the Hulk--"

"Let me stop you right there," Tony interrupted. "The Hulk was key in defending New York from the alien attack and instrumental in several missions since. He is not a monster or a beast. As to other threats, they're no safer or more at risk than any other kid in this day and age. We live in an Age of Marvels, Christine, and Iron Man or no, Avengers or no, I refuse to wrap my kids, my family, in bubble wrap because of what ifs." He clapped his hands once and turned back to Julia. "Now, back to Julia." He stepped back several paces as Julia resumed her presentation.

"Eminently well handled, Sir," Jarvis informed him. "Also, I have checked both Shield and Stark Industries press releases and known Twitter and blog accounts of employees and agents who would have known. There is nothing about the children. I have contacted Ms Lewis and asked her to 'keep an ear to the grapevine' as it were."

"Yeah. Thanks." Tony said, but his mind was elsewhere.

\--------------------------------------

"A family outing?" Pepper raised an eyebrow.

"Yes!" Tony waved his hand in the air. "This is New York, Pepper! We've been here a year and a half and we have never gone out on the town. We;re a family now too, and families go out and . . . and they do things. Family like . . . things."

"I would like to see some of the city," Doreen added. "Doctor Banner's garden is nice, but I miss trees and Joe should meet other squirrels."

Peter slumped in his chair. "Jeez. I haven't even looked at my email or anything. My friends are probably wondering if I'm even alive."

"Tony," Pepper stepped in, "where would we even go?"

Tony faltered. He hadn't thought about that part. The Starks had been part of New York for nearly a century when Stane had packed him off to L.A. At the time, Tony had believed Stane when he said that there was more space at their L.A. facility and it would do him good to get away from New York and memories of his parents. Now he knew that Stane wanted him disconnected from the board of directors and his company. It made his blood boil to think about it. "Out. Dinner. Family. Something."

"Um," Peter looked up. "I have an idea."

\----------------------------------

According to Jarvis, Mars 2112 consistently received high marks on Yelp and was rated on Zagat for all ages. Peter had gone regularly with his Aunt and Uncle and attended many a birthday party there. Doreen was curious and Tony had never been to a theme restaurant before. Pepper didn't protest, since she had nothing better.

They left the tower in a nondescript town car with tinted windows. Happy was driving, (Tony wasn't about to trust this to anyone else) and Doreen peered excitedly out the windows. After all, it was New York, a place she'd seen only on TV and from the bus. Peter sat next to her, pointing out landmarks. Some were famous, some not widely known outside of the city. It was as much an education for Tony and Pepper as it was for Doreen and they followed his finger as he rattled off building names or places. A few Tony recognized from his own childhood. 

Finally, Happy pulled up at a street corner and they climbed out. Tony recognized Carnegie Hall, but not much else. 

"Wow," Doreen breathed, her tail quivering in excitement.

"Fucking furry!" yelled a young man in some sort of band t-shirt as he walked by, and yet most of the people ignored him. A few glanced at Doreen and then looked away. Tony was barely noticed. 

"Wait, is this Broadway?" Doreen gasped, reading signs. "THE Broadway?"

"Yup." Peter pointed north. "Letterman's studio is about five blocks that way. South is Times Square and East is Rockefeller Center.

"What's west?" Tony asked, curious, and then shifted aside as a woman brushed past him, bumping him slightly and he caught a glimpse of dark skin and bright white hair before she vanished back into the crowd.

Peter faltered. "Uh . . ." he looked west. "Um . . . Jersey."

"PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!" At that moment, something blond and pink erupted from the crowd and attached itself to Peter with a hug that would do a grizzly bear proud.

"Oof!" Peter exclaimed. "Gwen? GWEN!"

"And Gwen's Peter sense strikes again," someone said sardonically. Tony looked over to see a boy and a girl emerge from the crowd and watching the reunion with a smile. The girl was tall and lean, with the face of a model while the boy had the weirdest haircut Tony had ever seen. His face was sharp and narrow, with an eagle's beak of a nose and a high forehead. Both were redheads.

"Osborn," Pepper whispered in his ear. 

Ah, of course. No one else in the world had that ridiculous haircut. Or that nose.

"Gwen." another man emerged from the crowd, this one with the same blond hair as Peter's limpet. "You're supposed to let someone breathe when you hug them."

"Oh!" The blonde let go of Peter who took several deep breaths. "Sorry." Then she scowled and punched Peter in the shoulder, and the redheads followed suit. "You never called! Never emailed! I opened a Facespace account to try and find you! A FACESPACE ACCOUNT!" 

"That really is a sign of concern," observed the redhead. 

"Facespace does mean true love," Osborn Jr. agreed.

Gwen hugged Peter again. "I was worried, Peter." Then she punched him in the shoulder once more. 

"I'm sorry, Gwen, but after . . . that night . . . I mean . .. my phone plan got canceled and then the city had me moving around and then when I got a new family, I had to . . . I'm sorry, Gwen. I just didn't think of it." Peter hung his head. 

"You owe her, Tiger," the redhead said. "She made a Facespace account."

"You can't cancel those guys," Osborn Jr. added. "They're like the Black Plague of the Internet."

"Shut up," Gwen told them and then looked back at Peter. "Peter, I'm glad you found a new family. What are they like?"

"You could always ask them." The redhead indicated Tony, Pepper, and Doreen with her thumb. 

Tony gave Gwen his best smirk/smile and waved. "Hello!"

Gwen turned red with embarrassment, and then she looked at him and her face got even redder and her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish.

"I'm afraid my daughter has a serious crush on you, Mr. Stark." The blond man turned to him. "George Stacey." They shook hands.

"Dad!" Gwen wailed.

Stacey ignored her. "Gwen and Peter grew up together since we live right down the street from them." He waved a hand at the redheads. That's Mary Jane Watson, Peter's neighbor, and Harry Osborn."

"Mr. Stark," Harry said. 

"Tony, please. Just Tony. And of course, Pepper, the spice to my salt."

"You read that on the internet," Pepper told him. "I told you to stop that."

"But it's fun."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, George," Pepper said, shaking Stacey's hand. 

"And last, but never least, Doreen," Tony finished the introductions with a wave of his hand and Doreen shook Stacey's hand with both of hers. 

"So, Tiger, you got yourself a sibling and she's a redhead," Mary Jane pulled Doreen into a one armed shoulder to shoulder hug. "I knew you had good taste."

"Redheads are awesome," Harry agreed. "We'd take over the world, but you're just going to give it to us eventually anyway."

"We are, after all, derived from cats," Mary Jane all but purred. "And the Egyptians worshiped cats."

"And so you will worship us," Harry said smugly.

"What are you guys doing here?" Peter asked. Evidentially, ignoring Harry and Mary Jane was a thing.

"Gwen wanted to go out for dinner," Stacey replied. He ruffled his daughter's hair.

"It was her Peter sense," Mary Jane said, as though that explained it.

"The Peter sense is never wrong," Harry confirmed.

"Will you two stop that?" Gwen demanded. "There is no such thing as the Peter sense."

Tony turned to Peter. "The Peter sense?"

"Harry and Mary Jane think they're funny," Gwen replied, glaring daggers at the redheads who somehow managed to look both innocent and mischievous at the same time.

"Gwen can almost always find Peter when she wants to," Mary Jane explained. "It's uncanny. Harry insists she has him fitted with a tracking device, and I keep telling him that's silly. She's obviously an alien and finds him by scent."

Stacey cleared his throat. "As fascinating as this is, perhaps we should go inside?"

"Yeah! We can get a big table!" Harry exclaimed.

"You just want the jumbo basket of crayons," Mary Jane sneered as they moved towards the stairs that lead to Mars 2112's courtyard.

"Well, yeah," Harry shrugged.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Entering Mars 2112 required sitting through a noisy simulator style ride that was kitschy as hell, and far too short in Tony's opinion. Even as they left the simulator, he was already talking about buying and upgrading the place and as they waited for the hostess, Pepper fired off a quick text to Julia Carpenter, warning her about Tony's newfound restauranteur aspirations and that she was not to let him go through with it. It was probably unnecessary, Tony tended to promptly forget about those things soon after coming up with them, but sometimes not. Case in point, after four years, he was still trying to get her to let him buy Target.

Mars 2112 did actually look like Mars, though. Granted, a 60's camp version of the red planet, with red rocks, fake neon green trees, and waiters in knockoff science fiction movie costumes. At the back of the room was a pair of doors marked "Arcade", and the bar was to the left. Children ran back and forth between the tables, or through the Arcade doors, or up and down the stairs she could just barely see beyond the bar. Business was brisk, but as they neared the hostess stand, Pepper took another look around. The paint on the walls was worn, and thinking about it, the ride seemed dated, and the costumes worn by the staff seemed . . . a bit threadbare. If nothing else, Mars 2112 could use some TLC. 

"Do the stairs go to the subway?" Doreen asked, pointing at the stairs. "Gosh, never been on a subway 'fore. Well, Daddy and I did ride the train once at the State Fair."

"No, that leads to the Miniature Golf course," Harry explained.

Doreen cocked her head. "Miniature Golf? Like nine holes? There was this resort Daddy was always fixin' the pump at an' he took me there to help 'im sometimes. They had two golf courses. Big one, an' then a small one."

Peter, Mary Jane, Gwen and Harry stared at her in shock. "You've never played miniature golf?" Harry asked, as though it was a personal affront. "That's . . . that's horrible."

"Very horrible," Mary Jane said with heavy sarcasm. "A shock, in fact that a girl from rural Alabama has never heard of miniature golf." She wrapped one arm around Doreen's shoulders. "Don't mind Harry, Dorrie, he's just mad because he hit puberty last week and has to face up to the fact that girls don't have cooties." 

Harry was saved from responding when the Hostess asked them how many in their party and then told them that the wait would be at least an hour and a half.

The kids immediately dragged Doreen off to the golf course, leaving Tony, Pepper, and Stacey to stand there.

"So this is a family outing?" Tony asked.

Stacey looked from him to Pepper and back again. "Do either of you know anything about raising children, much less teenagers?" 

"Pepper has some younger sisters she helped with," Tony pointed out, "And I was a teenager . . . at some point. I think."

Stacey raised one eyebrow. "Would you like some advice?"

"Yes, please." Tony and Pepper said in unison.

\---------------------------

Stacey's advice was couched in disclaimers and generalities and based strictly on his experience with Gwen and his encounters with the children of friends and relatives, but Tony and Pepper took anything he could give them and he answered Tony's questions with the patience of a saint. While he could only give tips about raising a daughter, he was a gold mine about Peter. Pepper and Tony soaked up every word. But in the middle of a story about Peter's 10th birthday, Stacey's phone buzzed.

"Cop thing?" Tony asked. "We'll take Gwen home if you need to go bust some bad guys."

"No, it's from Gwen. 'Hole 15'."

"Well that's cryptic," Tony mused.

Then from the stairs, they heard screaming and Pepper proved that even in heels, she could outrun both of them.

\------------------------------

When they arrived, they found Mary Jane handing out a verbal tirade in a drill sergeant tone that made even Tony want to snap to attention. Her target was a trio of college aged men with high end name brand clothing and popped collars. Nearby, Peter, Harry and Gwen watched with an expression Tony couldn't quite describe and Doreen looked like she wanted to cry. Pepper immediately pulled in Doreen for a hug while Stacey went to deal with the restaurant employees who came running up.

"Let me guess, they went one over par?" Tony quipped.

"Mary Jane had to run to the bathroom," Peter said, "while she was gone, those three guys came up. We told 'em we were waiting for someone and to play on through and that's when they noticed Doreen's tail."

"They started saying . . . some bad things," Harry piped up.

"That's hardly an excuse," Stacey said as he joined them.

"I know," Peter agreed, "but then Mary Jane came up and tried to get them to move on and stop pestering Doreen and they told her to--"

Stacey's face took on an expression of horror and sympathy. "Cripes," he muttered, "they didn't tell her to--"

"Stand aside because she wouldn't understand?" Peter asked, "pretty much, yeah. I mean, she was probably gonna go off on them anyway, but . . ."

"I take it Mary Jane doesn't appreciate being dismissed," Tony put in.

"Mary Jane is young and beautiful," Stacey explained. "Because of that, a lot of people brush her off because they think she's either too full of herself, or not bright enough to comprehend the world around her."

"And that really, really, pisses her off," Gwen finished. "Never, ever, give Mary Jane the brush off by telling her she wouldn't understand. It's like, her berserk button or something." She frowned. "Actually, never give her the brush off at all."

"Like Doctor Warren did," Peter said.

"Yeah," Gwen agreed. "That . . . that was bad."

"But hilarious," Harry pointed out.

There was a pause and then Peter, Gwen and Harry all nodded. "Yeah."

"Got it, no brushing off Mary Jane," Tony said and turned to deal with the manager, because he was the Goddamn Tony Fucking Stark, and this was nothing new.

The manager wasn't stupid, he recognized Tony right away and when Tony explained that there had been an disagreement between the gentlemen and his kids and their friends (being very careful not to lay no emphasis on the words "my kids"), the manager understood immediately and offered to throw the three morons out onto the street as well as comp their meal.

"That won't be necessary," Pepper interjected. "We appreciate the offer, but our table should be ready soon and the kids have a game to finish."

"And I left a perfectly good Martini at the bar," Tony added. 

"Uh-uh!' Mary Jane snapped. "Captain Stacey, I demand these men be arrested for hate speech and harassment!"

"School paper?" Tony asked.

"Nope. Drama club." Peter replied.

"Huh, I would have had her pegged as a journalist."

"Oh she is," Harry said, "or wants to be. It's just that the editor of our school paper is scared to death of her and won't let her on staff."

Tony looked to over where Mary Jane was informing the manager, an employee, several onlookers, two newly arrived cops, and a bemused Captain Stacey of the laws that were broken, chapter and verse. "That's probably the wisest course."

"Yeah. Rand's a smart guy."

\----------------------------------

By the time Mary Jane wound down, statements were taken, the three bigots were hauled off to jail, and the game was finished (Mary Jane won), their table was ready. It was in the corner, raised off the floor, offering a commanding view of the restaurant as a whole and covered with a paper tablecloth. Menus were already set out and a giant basket of crayons was in the center. Again, Pepper noted the tired state of the menus. Faded colors, with the laminate showing its age here and there. Still, the names were amusing and it's wasn't hard to figure out what was what since the descriptions, despite the science fiction flair, made it pretty plain. Mostly, burgers, sandwiches, salads (for the parents' sake) and other things kids would eat, for the most part. 

Always health conscious, Pepper pondered her choices as Tony, Peter, and Harry held a debate on the merits of the Astro Burger with cheese versus the Star Cactus Burger with Bacon and Traveler's Blood and she smiled. Tony was as comfortable eating a hot dog from a street vendor as he was sitting down to a twelve course meal in the finest restaurants in the world and it was just one of the many paradoxes that made up the whole of Tony Stark. 

All to soon, the waiter showed up to take orders and make a few Star Trek jokes before taking their menus and disappearing again.

"Yes!' Harry lunged for the crayon basket and Pepper realized why the table cloth was made of paper. "I call dinosaurs!" Peter, Gwen and Mary Jane also reached for crayons, Gwen passing one to Doreen.

"What's this?" Tony asked. 

"Drawing contest," Gwen explained. "Winner picks dessert for the whole table. We get the waiter to judge."

"May Parker came up with it," Stacey explained. "It kept a pack of eight year olds quiet and busy and believe me, that's the greatest thing in the world. Of course, then they roped us adults into it. Then Peter and Gwen got Harry and Mary Jane into it. Harry, mostly."

"Totally in," Tony exclaimed and dug out a crayon.

Pepper turned to Stacey to make a comment about how immature her husband was and saw him reaching for the basket. "Gwen always picks Brownies," he growled. "Brownies with walnuts. I hate walnuts."

"That's the rule. We draw until our food arrives," Gwen explained. "Waiter decides the best drawing, winner gets to choose dessert and you have to eat every bite of it. No jostling elbows or side tracking your neighbors. Today, we draw a dinosaur."

"Because Harry is a dork," Mary Jane added.

Pepper looked back at Tony. He was holding the dessert menu and grinning at her. She knew that grin. It was the one that meant he had an idea and he was going to go through with it regardless if it meant sleeping on the couch or not. 

To hell with that. "Give me the purple crayon," she ordered, reaching for the basket.

\---------------------------

Steve Rogers balanced his sketchbook on one knee as his pencil moved over the paper in the quick and steady lines of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. But then, art had always been the one thing he'd never questioned. It had always been there for him. He couldn't imagine not being able to draw anymore then he could contemplate not taking Erskine's offer, or not running down the Hydra agent. It was simply part of who he was. 

He paused to remove the pipe from his mouth and blow a long, slow, puff of smoke into the air. Smoking was bad for you, and his ability to heal could only cope with so much, which was why he smoked only once a week or less, and at Pepper's request, he did so out on the terrace. Sometimes, the other Avengers joined him, Thor, usually, with the biggest pipe Steve had ever seen, and Tony with a cigar here and there. But for the most part, Steve smoked alone. It didn't bother him, he had his sketchbook and that was enough. 

Returning the pipe to his mouth, he resumed sketching, darkening lines, rendering forms until at last, his pipe was empty. Then he gathered up the sketchbook, his tobacco pouch and the case of pencils and headed inside.

As the terrace doors slid shut behind him, Bruce ran into the room, medical kit in hand. 

"Bruce?" Steve asked, and then looked over at the elevator as it opened. Doreen, who was looking decidedly green around the gills, was between Peter and a redheaded boy and had an arm around each of their shoulders. Two other teenagers, a red headed girl and a blonde one followed them and behind them came Pepper, Tony, and a blond man. 

"Fun fact number one, Steve-O," Tony called out, "Squirrel Girls cannot eat hot fudge sundaes!" He seemed abnormally cheerful, but Steve had come to recognize Tony's various shades of cheerful and right now, Tony Stark was utterly manic.

"George Stacy," the blond man said, holding out his hand.

"Steve Rogers. Good to meet you," Steve replied, shaking firmly but his attention was on Doreen. "What happened?" Peter and the redhead reached the couch and Doreen sat down weakly on it, curling into a ball and wrapping her tail around herself.

"I'd like to know that myself," Bruce replied.

"Fun fact number two," Tony informed them, eyes bright. "Super strength makes for some exceptionally long ranged projectile vomit."

Stacey sighed. "While Doreen has had ice cream, she's never had a hot fudge sundae, which apparently results in food poisoning when you're part squirrel."

"I didn't know!" called out the red haired boy, "I wouldn't have picked it if I had known, I swear!"

"He won the drawing contest," a red haired girl said as though it explained everything. "Even if the Triceratops looked like bad fan art of Land Before Time."

"And I'm paying to have Castle's suit dry cleaned," Tony said. "On the other hand, he invited me to play poker with the mayor next week."

"The mayor hates you," Bruce pointed out.

"Yeah, I know," Tony grinned.

"Oooooooh," Doreen groaned.

"Easy there, Doreen," Steve said, setting down his things. "Here, I'll get you to the infirmary." He moved to pick her up and saw her nostrils widen as she took his scent, then she turned even greener and Steve realized too late that she could smell the smoke on his clothes. Her eyes widened, and then she was clambering over the back of the couch to tumble to the ground. For the moment, silence reigned, and then they heard her throwing up again.

"Jarvis," Tony said into the silence, "add hot fudge sundaes to the list of foods that 'tear Doreen up something fierce'."

"Tony," Pepper sighed. "You're not allowed to mimic Doreen's accent."

"Ever." the redheaded girl put in. "Sorry, Mr. Stark, but even as a stereotypical accent, that was . . ."

"Bad," said Bruce.

"Horrible," said the redhead boy

"Awful," Pepper said.

"The sound of fingernails scratching a chalkboard as a sex pistols song played and cats yowl while demons do things that even the internet would call 'weird' while singing 'O Fortuna' off key and the souls of the damned howl in agony is preferable to how badly off you were," the redheaded girl finished. "In fact, the only thing worse than you is--"

"Mary Jane, that's enough!" the blond girl exclaimed.

"Just who are you people?" Bruce asked. 

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Pepper said. "The redheads are Harry and Mary Jane, the blonde is Gwen. They're all friends of Peter's. George is Gwen's father."

Bruce looked at each of them and then nodded. "Charmed," he said, eyes wide and in his 'you people are all insane, what am I doing here?' tone of voice.

The elevator opened again, revealing Coulson, Barton, and Natasha. Barton was between Natasha and Coulson and grinning hugely. Monkey Joe was perched on Barton's shoulder and Coulson was almost scowling. Both Coulson and Natasha were holding Barton's arms in a death grip.

"What is going on here?" Coulson asked. "Who are all these people?"

Pepper ran through introductions once more. "Where have you been?" she asked when she was finished, "and why is Natasha holding Clint's arm like she wants to tear it off?"

"Probably because I do," Natasha growled.

"I regret nothing!" Barton cried out. Monkey Joe raised a paw in the air and chittered loudly, most likely echoing Barton.

"I never thought I would say these words;" Coulson said, "the squirrel is a bad influence."

"Clint decided he wanted to live 'the squirrel life'," Natasha explained as she and Coulson shoved Barton into a chair. "So he and the squirrel went to Central Park. Then, he climbed a tree, took off all his clothes, ate a bag of nuts, and went to sleep on a tree branch. Which is how the cops found him."

"Explaining that he wanted to be a squirrel did not help." Coulson rubbed a hand over his eyes. "We had to do some very fast talking to keep him from being held for psychiatric evaluation."

From behind the couch, Doreen groaned again.

"Enough!" Pepper snapped. "Peter, take your friends to the Rec Room and . . . watch . . . something. Natasha, would you and Clint please help Bruce get Doreen to the infirmary? Tony, go to your lab and if I hear any explosions, I will . . . no. If anything explodes, anything at all, I will hurt you."

"Actually," Stacey said, "I should get Mary Jane and Harry home."

"Aw, but Dad," Gwen protested and Stacey shook his head.

"Week night, and you have school tomorrow."

"Summer school," Mary Jane said with a shrug. "Voluntarily. She actually wanted to go."

"She's so weird," Harry added.

"You two also have summer school, as I recall," Stacey pointed out.

"I'm taking a theater workshop, doesn't count," Mary Jane responded.

Harry only sighed and Steve strongly suspected that Harry was the only one who actually had to take the extra classes in order to keep up.

"Of course," Pepper said. "I'll have Happy take you back to your car."

Gwen and Mary Jane hugged Peter one last time and then they all filed out.

"Phil, would you mind waiting until morning for an explanation?" Pepper asked. "I have a therapy appointment with a glass of wine . . . or five."

"I don't believe that will be a problem," Coulson replied, "I'll need to explain to Director Fury why Barton has lost his mind this time." He and Pepper walked out.

Steve turned to look at Peter but the boy was staring at the terrace doors and when Steve turned to look, he saw nothing until a flicker of movement at the bottom caught his attention. It was a bird, some sort of sparrow, bouncing around, turning it's head this way and that.

"Something wrong?" Steve asked. He knew that Peter had some sort of ability to sense imminent danger, and if the bird was setting it off . . .

"Maybe, I don't know." Peter scowled at the doors. "Do birds spend a lot of time hanging around here?"

"Birds like high places," Steve replied, "and the tower is the tallest building in New York. Why?"

"Just . . . every time I look out a window, I usually see a bird and when i do, I feel like I'm being watched."

Most people would have patted Peter on the shoulder and told him not to worry about it, but Steve Rogers wasn't most people and he'd seen too much to dismiss the idea of spy . . . birds. It sounded weird to even think it, but weirdness was part of being an Avenger. "I'll talk to Tony and have him look into it," he promised.

"Thanks," Peter said, and walked out of the room. 

Steve watched him go and then turned back to the doors. The bird was gone, but as Steve headed for his room, he kept an eye on the windows anyway. 

Just in case.

\-------------------

Pepper and Tony's bedroom was more like a luxury hotel suite. There was a sitting area, two walk in closets, a bathroom with dual showers and a tub the size of a jacuzzi and even a small kitchenette with a bar.

Sighing, Pepper finished her third glass of wine and reached for the bottle to pour a fourth, finally feeling her stress dissipate. She glanced at her phone, reading again the text message from Bruce that Doreen was asleep in the infirmary and should be fine come morning. He'd added a picture of Doreen asleep on the bed with Monkey Joe curled up next to her head. It was so adorable she wanted to have the picture printed out and framed.

"Great start, Pepper," she said aloud. "Letting your godchild get sick on the second week because you didn't look into her food allergies. Way to go."

"One," Tony pointed out, making her jump because she hadn't heard him come in, "Doreen doesn't have food allergies. Two, talking to yourself is a sign of mental issues and that's my department." He leaned over the back of the couch and kissed her and Pepper felt heat spread to every corner of her body. Life with Tony was never easy, but damn, the man could kiss. "What she has is a hybrid physiology."

"Bruce says she's sleeping it off," Pepper replied, setting down the wineglass.

"Apparently this is not the first time she's had that reaction to something," Tony responded, heading towards his closet. "Lemonade, upchuck city, orange juice, no problem. Vanilla ice cream, hey great. Sherbert, she has to worship the porcelain god. Go figure."

Pepper nodded, feeling a little better as she followed Tony to his closet. Partly because his was next to hers and mostly because she liked seeing Tony undress. "And sleeping it off has worked every time?"

"Yup. Apparently, she heals about as fast as Rogers does, which translates into bouncing back from food poisoning pretty much overnight. Also, vomiting up dinner makes her talkative." He turned to look at her and she almost drew back at the look in his eyes before he sank down on the bed. "How did she do it, Pepper? Two and a half weeks and I'm having a freak out of worry. I mean, I know she's adorable and all, but . . ."

"Welcome to Parenthood, Mr. Stark," Pepper responded, sitting down next to him.

"Hell of a welcome," Tony muttered. "Shouldn't there be at least a champagne brunch or something?" He stood up again and moved to the table, where he began to empty his pockets, still going on about what a welcome to parenthood should entail. Pepper leaned back and let his voice roll over her as he meandered along the topic, his ideas getting more and more grandiose. ". . . and then camel rides along the -- hello, where did you come from?" He turned back to her, holding a small booklet in his hand.

"What is it?" 

"A guide to Mutant friendly shops, services, and advocates," Tony read from the cover. "New York edition." He looked at her. "It was in my coat pocket."

"How did it get there?" Pepper asked, taking the booklet from him. Inside the cover was a business card for one Charles Xavier, PhD of the Xavier Institute School for the Gifted. The rest of the booklet was exactly what it said on the cover; listings for shops, doctors, lawyers, even counseling services. All mutant friendly.

"Not a clue," Tony replied. "'School for the Gifted, huh?"

"Tony, no." Pepper snapped in a tone she had only used half a dozen times in all the years they'd known each other. "No." Because Tony had that look in his eye, and that edge in his voice. It meant he was contemplating violence and she'd seen it far too often since he'd become Iron Man. Normally, she let Tony be Big Dog of the Yard, and hell, it was even a bit of a turn on, but she was one of the few people who could yank the dog's chain and expect him to heel. She rarely did it, only six times in over ten years. But it was a weapon of last resort, and she used it now.

"But Pepper--"

"No! This is not a threat, it's an offer of help." She snapped the booklet closed. "If we accept, we have this Xavier's card. If not, we are free to use the booklet as we see fit. More to the point, Tony, we spent ninety minutes with George Stacey talking about raising kids and barely scratched the surface. We could read books and blogs until we're blue in the face and still not have everything we need."

"But--"

Pepper stood up, cutting off Tony's objections with one sweep of her hand. "We need help, Tony. Both Peter and Doreen have powers and God knows where that will end. We are both out of our depth. Deeply out of our depth and on top of all that, ON TOP OF, mind you, someone had to have filmed that confrontation on the golf course tonight and it's probably going viral on YouTube as we speak. I guarantee you that by tomorrow morning, the media will be lining up to take potshots at us over it at the very least, not to mention Peter's friends and their families."

"Jarvis?" Tony asked.

"At this point, Sir, I have found only a few twitters, most of them simply noting your presence at Mars 2112 earlier this evening. I am monitoring reddit, and google alerts, as well as several of the most popular blog sites and have not found anything so far. It is possible, Sir, that you escaped unscathed, as it were."

"Possible, but not likely." Tony scrubbed his face with his hands. "What do you have on this Charles Xavier and the Xavier Institute?"

In the middle of the room, a hologram of a man appeared. He was bald, with piercing blue eyes and sitting in a wheelchair. The photo had been taken at some sort of gala, since Xavier was dressed in a Tuxedo. "Professor Charles Xavier, PhD in Genetics with a Master's in Education as well as multiple minor degrees in subjects ranging from law to engineering. He is the discoverer of the 'X-Gene', and proved the existence of mutants, which he dubbed 'Homo Superior'. Xavier is an advocate of Mutant Rights and has appeared multiple times before various government bodies to testify on the subject."

"'Homo Superior', great choice there," Tony said with heavy sarcasm.

"Professor Xavier has since stated he regrets the name. Following his discovery, Xavier founded the Xavier Institute School for the Gifted with one Erik Lensherr, PhD, Electrical Engineering. Lensherr left the Institute soon afterwards, and his current whereabouts are unknown. Xavier himself is the majority stockholder and president of Xavier Enterprises with a current personal wealth of eighty billion dollars, most of which is funneled into the Xavier Foundation, a non profit from which the Institute draws its funding. The foundation counts several notables on its Board of Directors, including Warren Worthington the Third of Worthington Industries, who is a Mutant and was one of the Institute's first students. In addition to his role as the head of the Xavier Foundation and Xavier Enterprises, Professor Xavier is the Institute's Headmaster. While Xavier has no biological children, he is the guardian of Scott Summers, the Institute's deputy headmaster." A second picture appeared of a brown haired handsome man in his early thirties. He wore red lensed sunglasses and the line of his mouth suggested a slight frown. "Summers holds a Masters in Biology and is state certified as a teacher in the same field. He too, is one of the institute's first students, if not the first."

"'School for the Gifted'," Tony mused. "Mutants?"

"There is a high probability of that, Sir."

"Those are interesting glasses, Summers wears," Tony noted. "In fact, those lenses look like quartz of some kind."

"Indeed, Sir. The lenses are a substance known as ruby quartz, a rare crystalline structure that is used primarily in energy research conducted by both Worthington Industries and Xavier Enterprises. According to the Shield Database you stole from the Helicarrier during Loki's invasion, Summers received a traumatic brain injury as a child which impaired his optical nerves. Without the glasses, Summers experiences intense pain and nausea if his eyes are exposed to unfiltered light which can lead to unconsciousness over a prolonged period of time. Summers is married to Jean Grey, a Biochemist. Grey is the head of X.E.'s R&D division and holds a number of patents. She has collaborated with Xavier on several papers regarding the mutant phenomenon and is also an alumni of the Institute."

"Color me shocked. So why is Shield looking at the good professor?"

"The database contains very little information in that regard, Sir. Shield believes that Xavier is doing more than educating mutants, they believe that he is providing mutants with combat training to some unknown end. As of the download, they have been unable to insert agents anywhere significant into X.E., the Foundation, or the Institute or acquire any resources within those three organizations."

"That's some operational security he's got there."

"Quite so, Sir"

"Don't even think it, Tony," Pepper ordered. "I'll handle this."

"He slipped it to me, Pepper."

"Yes, because if he gave it to me, you would go Papa Wolf, grab the Avengers and go on the attack."

"I would not." Tony protested, but the protest sounded hollow. 

"Yes, you would. Tony, you shoot then aim and it really pisses me off." 

Crap. Ohhhhhh crap. Pepper was mad at him and that was Death Glare number five on her face, which was pretty bad because if he didn't do something he was going find himself in back to back meetings with the guys from internal legal and they made his skin crawl not to mention their comb overs were hideous and now she was looking at him funny and oh crap, he was talking out loud again.

"Death Glare number five?" She repeated and they stared at each other. "Seriously?"

"Well yeah, I mean, you do this thing with your eyebrows and . . ." Tony trailed off as Pepper's eyes widened and they looked at each other some more.

Then, Pepper's lips twitched, her shoulders shook, and then she was laughing, and he was laughing and they were both falling onto the bed, howling with laughter and tears. 

"Oh, Tony -Tony," Pepper gasped out. "God, Tony, I love you!"

"I love me too," Tony replied and got swatted on the arm for it. 

It seemed like hours they lay there on the bed, gasping and getting themselves under control before Pepper raised herself up on one elbow. "Tony . . . I did mean it. I want you to let me handle this."

"But-" Tony protested and then fell silent as she laid a finger on his lips. 

"I will have Natasha there as Natalie if I can, Phil or Steve if I can't. Jarvis will be monitoring the whole thing."

"We commit to nothing," Tony said.

"Nothing," Pepper agreed.

"Good."

"Good." A pause. "Tony?"

"Yeah, Pep?"

"Death Glare number five out of how many?"

Oh crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mars 2112 was a real restaurant in New York City and is now closed following years of deterioration in quality, and the building torn down. According to Google, Mars 2112 was next to Carnegie Hall at the corner of Broadway and 51st. Everything else is based on rough estimates and a general direction. 
> 
> Other details come from Chapter 6 of "Of Finding Innocence" by fanficwriterghc at ff dot net and my own imagination. I added the golf course and arcade because I could. Also, because let's be honest, if this restaurant did not already exist in Tony Stark's universe, he would build it.
> 
> Also, yes, the Castle Doreen threw up on is Rick Castle of the show "Castle", and yes, that's strictly a cameo . . . maybe.


	5. Mockingbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, pantsless Tony.

While Nick Fury had an almost unlimited budget to work with, he still had a budget and aside from what it cost to operate the Helicarrier, the Avengers were the biggest draw on his accounts. Some of that was cleaning up the messes they left behind, but by and large, the single biggest blot was the jet that took them to missions. 

If the jet hadn't been destroyed (and it had on two different occasions), it had been severely damaged, and once it had been stolen. Or, Barton, their only actual pilot, had gotten injured due to his own stupidity. All of which had necessitated sending out another pilot or even a brand new jet. While Romanov could manage if need be and Rogers was coming along nicely, what they really needed was a dedicated pilot. Someone who could stay behind with the jet or fly air support. Of course, such a person would have to be as unique as the Avengers themselves, but after a long search, Fury had settled on the perfect candidate. 

Phil Coulson raised an eyebrow as he opened the file. "Sir, while I agree that on paper this is probably the best choice, may I ask why Colonel Rhodes was not detached from the Air Force?"

"Rhodes may be qualified, but he's primarily an engineer, not a pilot," Fury replied. "More to the point, his friendship with Stark could be inconvenient if Stark ever goes rogue." Which, according to the Shield betting pool that Fury wasn't supposed to know about (and he'd put down a hundred bucks on), was due sometime next August at the absolute latest. 

"And the Air Force said no." Coulson paged through the file. Fury doubted he'd find any surprises since Coulson himself had written just about everything in there, but nonetheless, Coulson was Coulson and he would review the file anyway. 

"And the Air Force said no," Fury confirmed. "As for your next two suggestions, I don't want Quartermain or Danvers anywhere near Rogers or Stark. Especially Stark."

"Very wise, Sir." Coulson looked down at the folder again, this time a smile at the corners of his mouth. "Barton's going to be pissed."

"So?"

\--------------------------------------

The world turned on.

Despite the fact that aliens had invaded, that the world now had irrefutable proof that we were not alone, the bulk of people continued on in their daily lives. New York, in its utter inability to stay knocked down, continued to rebuild.

Wars were fought. 

In the alleys, a man with hands of death waged it on any and all who would dare prey on the weak and defenseless. On the rooftops, a man in red sought out his own prey, seeking the one ultimately responsible for his father's death. In the Bronx, a dive bar was destroyed by a man in black armor. He was not waging a war, but simply sending a message. It also made for some great stress relief and he needed that badly.

People fell in and out of love. 

On a plane headed east, a blonde woman sat in her seat, tablet computer in her lap, fingers drumming restlessly on the armrest. She was blond and sleek in build, with dark blue eyes that reflected her frustration that she was not at the controls of the plane. Not that the plane needed her skills, but that the pilot's seat was the only place she was truly comfortable. She looked down at the tablet, calling up the file again and then she smiled. Clint was going to be pissed, but that was fine. He was cute when he was mad.

People laughed. 

The man in the private recovery room was not laughing. He had just completed a series of grueling operations that would make him far, far more than a man. Once he had recovered, he would begin his final preparations and when they were complete, he would kill Tony Stark. 

Out in space, an asteroid headed for earth. It would arrive in just under three months. In five months, it would cost Mary Jane Watson her life.

\-------------------------------------------

"You can't throw money at this, Tony," Bruce pointed out as the elevator's doors closed, "You can't change Public Opinion no matter how rich you are." Tony gave him a look and Bruce held up his hand in acknowledgement. "That's different. Presumably, you at least give things a once over before you leap. However, when it comes to kids, people tend to get insane, even more when it comes to other people's kids, and quadruple that when it comes to celebrities."

"That's you, Stark," Barton supplied. "You're a celebrity."

"Shut up, Barton," Tony replied. "So what do I do?"

"You're screwed no matter what," Bruce replied with a shrug and a smile. "Boarding schools will give them a good education, but then you'll be accused of adopting them as a publicity stunt and then sending them off. And when it comes out that Doreen is mutant, well then you're the devil for being embarrassed by her and sending her away. A private school here in the city, well then, why aren't you sending them off somewhere to get some culture? You have money, why aren't you spending it on their education? And if you send them to public school . . . well . . ."

"I went to public school," Steve supplied from behind them, "Nothing wrong with it. I turned out okay."

"I did too," Bruce nodded. "Well, except for the okay part."

"Grew up in a carnival," Barton shrugged. "What school?"

"State Education," Natasha said. "At their age, I was learning about war."

"As was I," Thor agreed.

"Grew up on a Marine Base," Coulson told them. "In Germany."

"None of that helps, guys," Tony pointed out as the elevator dinged and the doors opened on the hanger deck. "That's new."

It was difficult to tell what Tony referring to. The sleek jet in the middle of the hanger or the blond woman in the Shield uniform and brown leather jacket leaning against it. Neither one the Avengers had seen before. 

"Bobbi?" Clint exclaimed. "What the hell?" 

"Fire it up, Morse," Coulson called out, "We're going to Africa by way of the North Pole." The woman waved a hand in acknowledgement and headed inside. 

"What? Who?" Tony asked.

"That is the Quinjet, a custom built transport craft designed exclusively for the Avengers and anything you might run into. The who is the number three pilot in all of Shield now permanently assigned to the Avengers as your primary pilot and, if you believe everyone whose ever flown with her, as well as her ex-husband, a functioning lunatic. And coming from Clint, that's saying a lot." Coulson patted Tony on the shoulder. "Say hello to Barbara 'Bobbi' Morse, code name Mockingbird."

"Yeah," Bruce muttered sarcastically," this will end well."

\-----------------------------------------

Despite Coulson's words, Agent Morse seemed to be perfectly sane, which disappointed Tony greatly. On the other hand, she had sass to spare and she'd spent the first three hours of the flight fielding Tony's comments and needling with consummate skill and deflecting his questions about her marriage with Barton. Natasha, who was in the co-pilot's seat, pointedly ignored them both. However, Morse's responses had become almost rote, and as Tony watched, she switched the screen to some sort of log, then flipped it back to radar.

"Something wrong?" Tony asked. 

Morse turned her chair. "Barton, you fucking idiot! I told you to fix that circuit in the topside turret!"

"I did fix it, Psychobitch!" Barton yelled back.

"Fuck you! If you fixed it, why am I getting a log error?"

"Fuck you! How should I know?"

"Just get the fuck up there and fix it!"

"Have Stark do it! He's the goddamn engineer!"

"You know, I'd be happy to--" Tony began and then broke off as Morse clearly gave him a look that told him to shut the fuck up. 

"Did I say for Stark to fix it?" Morse demanded, "no, I said for you to fix it! So get off your ass and fix it! This is worse than when you took me to that five o' clock chili place on our honeymoon."

"It's 'Five Alarm' chili," Barton replied, rising. "'Five Alarm'. Stupid bitch."

"Fucking asshole."

Natasha gave Morse a look and then left her seat, retrieving a tool chest from the closet and standing under the ladder to the topside turret. Still swearing, Barton snatched a probe from Natasha's hand and climbed up. 

Coulson slid into the seat Natasha had left. "Talk to me, Morse," he said quietly.

"I've been getting intermittent blips on radar since we left Canadian airspace," Morse replied, equally quietly, all traces of her anger gone. "At first I thought it was just the weather, but they're too consistent, too regular." She tapped keys. "Coulson, did Fury clear us with the Russians?"

"No."

"Fuck." 

'Fuck." Coulson agreed. 

"Uh, 'scuse me, feeling just a bit lost, here," Tony told them and then side stepped as Barton joined them, showed Morse three fingers and then shoved her shoulder, and stalked off to the back of the plane. 

"Fuck," Morse said again.

"Can you take them?" Coulson asked. 

"If it's Hydra or the locals, sure," Morse replied, "but if one of A.I.M.'s freaks is back there, we might have a problem."

"Still lost," Tony growled. 

"Someone explain. Now." Steve added.

Coulson sighed. "After Schmitt died, Hydra's remaining leaders started bickering among themselves, and Hydra broke apart into three groups. One, Hydra itself, currently headed by one Baron Wolfgang von Strucker. Two, Advanced Idea Mechanics, or A.I.M., founded by Zola and some Hydra scientists and engineers who were less than committed to Schmitt. They're mercenaries for the most part, designing weapons for whoever has the money to pay them. But they're also well known for fusing humans to machines and using them as weapons."

"Including planes," Morse growled, "Hence, freaks."

"Faction three, The Secret Empire, made of Hydra sleeper cells throughout the western hemisphere. Their boss is Helmut Zemo, who was basically running things in South America during the war. Zemo and Strucker hate each other, especially since it was Zemo who originally picked up the reins of Hydra before Strucker forced him out. Locally, Russia is big. Even with modern technology, Moscow's grip on things is less than they'd like and a lot of their authority comes from ex-Soviet generals and governors who pay lip service to the Kremlin and then continue as they were. East of the Urals, Russia is pockmarked with labs, secret military bases, and God knows what else. Hydra, A.I.M, and an outfit called Ten Rings are all battling it out for control of territory and those labs and bases. Meanwhile, the Yakuza, Triad and Tong are slowly coming west under a group known as the Hand. Not to mention that at the end of the day, everyone is in bed with Hotel Moscow."

"Who?" Steve asked.

"Russian Mob," Natasha explained as she and Thor joined them.

"And the whole time, those ex-Soviets are filling up their bank accounts with money from all of 'em, right?" Tony guessed.

"It's a damn powderkeg out here," Coulson agreed. "However, as we passed into Russian airspace, we should have been challenged, regardless of our cover."

"Which means that someone is very interested in us and doesn't want Moscow to know, right?" Tony asked. "And since I'm being all smart and stuff, your little act was because at least one of those groups is clever enough to see and hear through the skin of other aircraft and you needed Clint to do a visual check without tipping them off. And since I can be even smarter, whatever our cover is, Morse turned off all the things that would tip our hand including that which would protect us against the aforementioned cleverness which is why we're all talking quietly so the engines drown out those listening devices. What is our cover anyway?"

"U.N. Transport. Gold star for Stark," Morse told him.

"Bronze," Natasha said firmly as she and Coulson traded seats again. "Starks' head is big enough."

"Point is," Morse said, tapping the screen. "We have three new friends out there and we only know about it because someone's ECM isn't working quite right. We can fight, flight, or ignore. Call it, Coulson."

"Fight," Coulson said. "If you're sure."

"Get Banner tucked away and then strap in," Morse replied. "Have Clint prep the tubes."

Tony looked back at her. "Tubes?"

\-------------------------------------------

Pepper looked up as a cup of coffee and a folder of papers was set next to her elbow. Standing next to her desk was a young man in a rumpled suit. "Chris, isn't it?" she asked. The intern nodded. 

"Yes, Ma'am. Two sugars, three spoonfuls of milk. And I correlated the reports from Arc two in Philly." he gestured at the folder. 

Pepper glanced down at the folder, eyebrows rising in surprise. Then she looked back at Chris, taking in his rumpled suit and the slightly bloodshot eyes. "Have you been here all night?"

"Mr. Stark said I'm your minion at the conference yesterday and I figured that still applied." He shrugged. "I . . . I had nothing else to do, both my roommates are out of town, and I think the mold on the pudding cup in my fridge is on the verge of sentience." He shuddered. "That or the fridge is haunted."

"Hm." Pepper sipped the coffee and smiled as she opened the folder. The reports were organized by day and then categorized by usage. He'd also included a summary with notations about improving usage in key areas. "This is impressive, Chris."

"Thanks."

Pepper crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, coffee in hand, studying the young man. He was slightly taller than average, with a lean build and short brown hair. The cut of his suit clearly said he'd bought it off the rack and she recognized his tie for the cheap polyester it was. "Sit." He sat. "You're with the internship program, right?"

"Yes ma'am. A.S. Information Technology from New York City College and then straight into the internship. I.T. was full so they sent me into A.V. conference. Normally I schedule conference rooms, but they needed an extra hand, so I got tapped." He looked down at the floor. "And honestly, this is a lot more interesting."

"Compiling data on the output of an Arc Reactor is interesting to you?" Pepper asked incredulously. 

"Not that specifically, just . . . information in general. I like finding it and sorting it and stuff. I'm good at it. There's a bunch of numbers in there, and I have no idea what they mean, but I know where they go and with what."

Pepper gave the folder a long, level look and then looked back at Chris. "Chris, I'm terminating your internship." His eyes widened. "So I can put you on the payroll as a full time employee." Chris' mouth fell open. "This report, it shows initiative and an eye for detail plus dedication." She smiled. "Also avoiding near sentient slime molds and possibly haunted refrigerators shows good sense. We need that around here."

"Yes, Ma'am, thank you Ma'am!"

"Don't thank me yet. I'm adding you to Darcy Lewis' group. Among other things, she handles the Avengers PR and they need a good data guy."

As though on cue, Darcy walked in. She was a brunette with black rimmed glasses and a fondness for cherry red lipstick. "We got either got a problem or something hilarious, Boss," she said, holding up a letter.  
"Possibly both." She gave Chris a glance. "Who's the kid?"

"Your new data guy," Pepper replied, holding out her hand for the letter. "Effective immediately."

Chris held out his hand. "I'm Chris. Chris Pow--"

"Don't care," Darcy shrugged, which did interesting things to her blouse that distracted Pepper and completely arrested Chris's attention. "You need to read this, Boss." She slapped the letter into Pepper's hand and looked at Chris. "You." Chris' head came up. "Art's Coffee, two blocks west. Cinnamon bagel, nonfat espresso latte with whipped cream, and raspberry cream cheese. My office is room 114, leave it on my desk then find Judy Springer in 115 and tell her to find you a desk and the welsh feeds. I want those on my desk and making sense by four thirty. Go." Chris went. "Nice butt," she noted.

Pepper looked at the letter. "Shit," she muttered.

"That's what I said," Darcy pointed out.

"Jarvis, get me Tony."

\-------------------------------------

"Pepper, darling, love of all my lives, just so you know, I'm thirty-five thousand feet over Russia, currently crammed into a metal tube and about to be used as a human missile and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it. Also, my ankle itches."

"Tony, shut up and listen," Pepper snapped. 

"Listening."

"You've been canonized by the Church of Thor."

"No, I'm in a cannon, about to be used as a missile by Barton's supposedly crazy ex-wife. Thor's in the other one, by the way."

"Explain, Potts," Coulson broke in.

"The Church sent you a formal letter. You've been named Saint Anthony of Iron."

"Oh well that was nice of them."

"Tony, this is serious. The last thing the Avengers need is to be made as part of a religion and one that's gaining ground."

"Pepper, I don't think having formal stationary qualifies as gaining ground."

"Fear not, Pepper Potts," Thor intoned. "Upon our return, I shall seek out this church and reason with them."

"Not that simple. Thor," Darcy said. "Reason isn't really a part of religion and even if you aren't a god, you were worshipped as one. That's enough for most people."

"There's more, Potts," Coulson said. "Let's have the rest."

Pepper sighed. "There's a lot of flowery language, and I'm still reading it, but they want you to do certain things or else be cast from your tower." There was the sound of paper rustling. "Step down as Avengers leader so that Thor may take his rightful place. Lead the Avengers and the Church on a crusade to bring the Earth to the way of Thor and . . ." Pepper was silent for a moment. "I'll kill them." she snarled.

"Pepper?" Tony asked. 

"Slowly. With nail files."

"Pepper? You worry me when you start talking about murder." It was also kind of hot, but Tony wasn't about to say that over the com. Wait, was he talking out loud again? No, didn't look like it. Good.

"Feed them their own eyes."

"Pepper!"

There was the sound of papers rustling again and Pepper's cursing faded into the background. "Son of a bitch," Darcy breathed. "I didn't see this part." She cleared her throat. "Try not to freak, Boss Man, but there's some seriously anti-mutant stuff in here and they specifically talk about your duty to cast out the agent of Ratatoskr who resides in your house."

"Who?"

Darcy was clearly wincing. "In norse mythology, at the bottom of Yggdrasil dwells the wyrm Nidhoggr and at the top is a great eagle. Between them, running up and down the tree is Ratatoskr, who whispers slanderous gossip to rile them up and set them against each other."

"So?"

"So . . . Ratatoskr is . . . is a . . . a squirrel."

"Pepper, sweetie, let me make you some diamond tipped titanium nail files to carve out their eyes, okay?"

"She's busy drinking scotch from the bottle," Darcy informed him, "but I'll let her know." A pause. "Why nail files? Couldn't you whip up some mini chainsaws or something?"

"I had no idea you were so bloodthirsty, Lewis," Coulson noted.

"Bigotry does that to me," Darcy responded.

"Normally, I'm all for a game of 'lynch the bigot', " Morse said, "but we have to go fight for our lives now. Mind if we continue this later? Thanks."

The com clicked off as Morse suddenly killed the engines and put the Quinjet into a barrel roll to the left and down. "Son of a bitch, Bobbi!" Clint yelled. Righting the Quinjet, Morse hit the thrusters full power and Tony heard himself grunt as inertia did it's work. "Bobbi, Fury threatened to set you on fire if you did that again. On fire, Bobbi. Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiire!"

"That was in Lisbon, it doesn't count."

"He also said it after New Mexico!"

"It was our honeymoon, I had a hangover, and that dipshit in the fancy howling helicopter was pissing me off."

"What about Tokyo?"

"The Ambassador lived, didn't he?"

"Not the point!"

"Stark, your target is in your HUD as 'Ice cream cone', Thor, you have the the one in the middle. I got 'Butterscotch'." Morse replied. "Priority is their engines. Launch."

The front end of the tubes opened and air pressure sucked out Tony and Thor, Tony's HUD immediately picking out his target. 

As it had in the cave, as it had whenever he swung into action, Tony's heart seemed to go cold, and his focus became almost laserlike, hard and focused.

Cold, like ice. 

Like iron. 

This was Iron Man.

These were the only times he ever felt truly alive.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Birds were singing. 

It seemed a strange thing to take notice of, but Bruce had learned to pay attention to his surroundings before he ever opened his eyes. 

He was laying on grass and he could feel the sun's warmth. Indirect. Leaves rustling in the wind overhead. 

Smells. Grass. 

People talking nearby.

Shit.

Bruce's eyes snapped open. 

"Hey," said Tony from his left. 

"What happened? Where are we?"

"Morse really is crazy - she's going to be loads of fun - Thor and I kicked some ass over Russia, then we all went on to Africa, shut down that would be warlord with the sonic gun, and then the Hulk took off. Morse, Barton and I followed. Cap and Natasha are mopping up, Coulson is explaining to the Egyptian Government why a large green rage monster paid their country a visit, and here we are."

"We're in Egypt?"

"Nah, Rome. Hulk apparently decided the Piazza di Spagna was a good place for a nap. So I joined you. You know, two bros hanging out in the sun."

Bruce raised himself up on his elbows. "Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are your pants?"

"Solidarity, my friend. Solidarity."

"Of course." Bruce sat up. "Why are there several large men in suits talking to Agent Morse? Is that the Quinjet? You landed the Quinjet in the middle of Rome?"

"Swiss Guard, yes, and I didn't land it, Morse did."

"The Swiss Guard?"

"Hulk took a shortcut."

"A shortcut . . .?"

"The Pope would like to have a nice long talk with you, by the way."

"A shortcut?"

"Not a big deal, the Vatican was overdue for renovations."

"The Hulk tore up the Vatican?"

"Just the south and east wing."

"And you call that a shortcut?"

"Hulk really wanted that nap, I guess."

"Oh. Lovely." Bruce sank back onto the grass. "Hey, Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I want to know why Clint is naked?"

"One-upmanship."

"One-upmanship. Of course." Bruce closed his eyes again. "That makes perfect sense."

\-------------------------------------------

George Stacey had provided Tony and Pepper with three key rules for raising kids:

1\. Always tell the truth  
2\. Always knock, even if the door is open.  
3\. Chores are a must.

Chores had been the easiest one. Doreen and Peter had been so used to doing chores that they'd simply fallen into their old habits. Doreen in particular had taken over the kitchen, having apparently inherited what Markie had referred to as the "feed instinct" and the need to keep baked goods in the house. For metabolic furnaces like Thor, Steve, and Bruce after a transformation, it was a godsend. Pepper might have worried about calories and waistlines, but Doreen's cherry cheesecake cobbler was to die for. 

Pepper walked down the hall, Happy behind her pulling the large crate on a cart and knocked on Peter's door. It was half open, but rule number 2 was key. Pepper could not expect them to follow rules if she and Tony didn't. 

"Come in!" Peter called.

Pepper opened the door and stopped dead. In the middle of the room, Peter hung upside down from a single strand of webbing attached to the ceiling that was wrapped around his foot. His other leg was crossed over his ankle and his head had to be at least six or eight feet from the floor, one arm was behind his head and he was reading a book. There was the beep of a timer, and almost lazily, Peter spun a new strand of webbing right before the old one crumbled to dust. With a flurry of beeps, a roomba shot out from under the bed, sucked up the dust particles and then darted off.

"Peter . . ." Pepper managed to get out. She knew, intellectually, that Peter wasn't in danger of falling, and that he wasn't dizzy, but seeing someone reading upside down bothered her in some fashion she couldn't name. "Peter, you . . . I'm sorry, could you . . ." Peter glanced up from his book and seeing the look on her face, removed his foot from the webbing and dropped to the floor, twisting in mid-air to land on his feet. "Thank you," Pepper said. "It's just . . ."

"Nah, I get it, it's weird," Peter shrugged. "What's in the crate?"

Pepper stepped aside and let Happy push the cart in. "The last of your things from the house."

"What have you got in here, kid?" Happy puffed. He started trying to push the crate off, but Peter merely tossed his book onto the bed and then picked the crate up without any sign of effort. and set it on the floor. "Jeez. Never gonna get used to that," Happy muttered and then pulled out a pry bar. 

Doreen, drawn by the sounds of voices, tapped on the doorframe and entered, Monkey Joe on her shoulder.

"Cool!" Peter exclaimed, peering inside the crate. Reaching in, he lifted out a rectangular leather case. "My gear!" Unzipping the case, he produced a camera. It was old, heavy and made of metal, but exceedingly well cared for. Grinning, he whipped the camera up and snapped off a shot of Pepper, Doreen and Happy. 

"You like photography, Peter?" Pepper asked. 

"Yeah, I mean, my Dad and . . . and Uncle Ben . . ." Peter trailed off and shook himself. "When they were kids they made pocket money in the summer snapping photos of tourists over at Coney. It's how he met Aunt May. Uncle Ben taught me how to do photo developing and we even built a darkroom in the basement a few years ago. It was our thing." He set the camera aside and rummaged inside the crate again, coming up with other tools and equipment before emitting a satisfied sigh and held up another camera case, this one made of nylon. "This was my birthday present last year. Which was great because the school decided I could hurt myself and didn't want me developing my own photos anymore and one hour photo places are kind of out of business.." He pulled out a digital camera and began fiddling with the controls. "Anyways, I do most of the photo stuff for the school paper and . . ." his face fell. "And I suppose where I'm going they probably don't have school papers." He sank down on the bed. "Pepper, where are we going? I mean, some fancy boarding school, right? That's where wealthy folks send kids."

Pepper looked from Doreen and Peter and then took a deep breath. Honesty. Always. "We haven't decided." She sat on the bed next to Peter. "We were discussing it this morning when the Avengers got called away on a mission and hadn't really gotten anywhere." She managed a small smile. "Trying to get Tony settled down for a serious discussion can be like trying to get a cat to walk on a leash. We've received multiple offers, but Tony and I have been trying to keep you away from the press and wherever we send you has to be someplace that can protect you. Tony has enemies and Doreen, there are people who will hate you just for who you are, much less being Tony's daughter." She paused for a moment and then made a decision and pulled the Church of Thor's letter from her pocket. "Here. This came today for Tony." Doreen read it, her eyes widening. 

Peter peering over her shoulder, winced. "That's a reach on the Norse myth," he noted. Joe chittered something that sounded like it might be a question. "You're asking who Rataosker is, right?" Joe nodded. "He spreads discord and strife," Peter explained. "They're basically accusing Doreen of misleading Thor and causing discord among the Avengers."

Joe screeched again, and chittered noisily. "Joey want to know where this church is so he can go give them a piece of his mind," Doreen translated. "He says that its an unfair bias against squirrels." She looked down at the letter again and her mouth thinned to a line before she looked back up at Pepper. "I'm not hidin'," she said firmly. "Daddy said I should never be ashamed o' who I am, and I ain't. I got this tail for a reason, and it weren't to be sitting around worrying about those who can't mind their own business."

"'Those who matter don't mind and those who mind don't matter'," Peter quoted. 

Pepper nodded in agreement. "But that brings us back to the original point. Where are you two going to school."

"Don't it also have to be somewhere reputable?" Doreen asked. "I mean, don't kids of rich people go to places with names like 'Academy' and 'wood' in 'em?"

"Yup," Peter agreed. "Before he came to M3, Harry went to private schools," Pepper noted the plural with curiosity, "and from what he says, they're horrible. Regimented right down to how to think. And the bullies . . ." He shuddered. "I'd rather go five rounds with Flash Thompson without my powers over any of that." Doreen reached over and patted Peter's shoulder, and Pepper realized that Doreen had probably had taken on her own share of bullying. "But I guess we don't have a choice, do we, being Tony Stark's kids?"

Pepper opened her mouth to reply when her phone beeped. "Speaking of which," she murmured and glanced at it and her mouth thinned to a line; _In Rome. Won a drinking contest with the Pope. Barton shaves everywhere and Bruce's exorcism failed. Might be home late, am about to be arrested. Love, Tony._

"Sorry, guys," Pepper said, "I have to go. Tony's in jail."

"Fer what?" Doreen asked. 

Pepper looked at her phone again. "I'm not sure. Either for beating the Pope in a drinking contest, or for Bruce failing an exorcism or for seeing Barton naked. Knowing Tony, possibly all three."

Pepper got up and went to the door, then paused and looked back. "M3?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, pulling more things from the crate, clearly already distracted. "Midtown Manhattan Magnet. Public school, but you gotta show some affinity for the arts or sciences to get in."

"I see."

\------------------------------------

Darcy raised an eyebrow at the papers that dropped onto her desk and then looked up at Judy. "What's this?"

"The Welsh feeds," Judy replied with a humorless smile. "Two hours early and complete."

"You're fucking with me," Darcy replied, pulling the stack of paper to her and leafing through it. "It's Welsh. No one understands Welsh except the Welsh and even then that's debatable."

Judy, who happened to be of Welsh descent on her mother's side let out a snort of laughter. "I was watching him closely, boss. Except for googling a phrase here and there, he pretty much did it off the cuff."

"But it's fucking Welsh," Darcy protested then launched herself from her chair and stormed out into the hallway. Judy followed. Technically, the Welsh feeds were irrelevant. They were a test to see how newbies to the Avengers PR division handled a challenge and were in fact, intended to be failed. How they handled that failure determined whether or not they stayed in the division. "You!" Darcy bellowed as she marched into 114. "You! Newbie. Pauling. Whatever your name is."

Chris looked up. "It's Pow--"

"Do I look like I care?" Darcy demanded. "You finished the Welsh feeds. No one finishes the Welsh feeds. Explain."

"I sort of speak Welsh."

"'Sort of'?" 

"There was this girl in high school. Exchange student. I thought if I spoke Welsh it would impress her. So I taught myself it." He lifted his hands. "Language is just sharing information and I'm good at sorting out information, sooo . . ." he gave them a sheepish smile. "Ta da?"

"Great." Darcy rolled her eyes. "Just great. Someone beats my personal Kobayashi Maru because of a high school crush. Are there any other languages you 'sort of' speak?"

"Um . . . well . . . there's Greek, Russian, Italian, Spanish, Mandarin, though that's 'cause I paid for college by working at this Chinese place, and then there's French and I'm actually fluent in German. My . . ." something too horrible to be called rage showed in his eyes and then he blinked and it was gone. "Speaking another language was mandatory growing up."

"I see," Darcy replied and then she gave an annoyed sounding huff. "Fine." She stormed out.

"I don't suppose I secretly impressed her?" Chris asked.

"Nope. She's pretty pissed off." Judy reached over and patted his hand. "I would't worry about it, Chris. You'll only be the office bitch until someone else pisses her off more than you just did."

"So I'm screwed for life?"

Judy nodded. "'Fraid so."

Chris leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. "Great."

\---------------------------------------------------

"Birds." Tony repeated as he and Steve got up from their chairs. "He's afraid of birds."

"Not afraid. Just that he feels like they're watching him." Steve pointed out.

"Oh. So much better," Tony scoffed. "Look, the tower is a nice tall place. Birds like nice tall places. That's all there is to it."

"I dunno, Tony," Steve admitted, "Now that I think about it, a lot of birds seem interested in what they can see through the windows."

"Because they're birds." Tony reached over and pulled the latch for the Quinjet's doors. "Birds. They have brains the size of a pea. Probably even smaller than that. Besides, if they were watching us, I'd know. You can't so much as look sideways at--"

"ANTHONY EDWARD STARK!" came the yell.

"Oh crap! Pepper!" Tony flinched.

"Dude, you are in so much trouble," Barton gloated.

"Barton! Get your ass out here!" Fury bellowed.

"Fuck."

"I think I'll just stay here and help Morse finish up," Bruce decided. 

"It's okay, Bruce," Steve said, "no one holds you responsible for what the Hulk does."

"I do."

Steve nodded. There was nothing he could say without sounding patronizing, so he simply smiled and gave Bruce's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Bruce nodded his thanks and turned away to help. 

Steve walked down the ramp to find Natasha, Coulson, and Thor standing at the end sharing a bag of popcorn. On the other side of the hanger, Pepper was yelling at Tony, while Fury was verbally berating Barton. Coulson held out the bag and Steve took a small handful and then passed the bag to Bruce and Morse when they came down.

"You know, it seems kind of mean to stand there watching them like this," Bruce noted.

"Aye," Thor agreed. "'Tis not noble at all."

"We should at least leave the hanger," Steve pointed out. 

"Probably," observed Coulson. 

Everyone took a fresh handful of popcorn.

"We're not going anywhere, are we?" Bruce asked.

"Nope."

"Not a chance."

"Nay."

"Didn't think so."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Pain. 

Macendale. 

They were the only things he knew anymore. One of those was his name, but which was which was unclear. 

Another jolt snapped through him and he screamed once more, voice hoarse and raw. 

It stopped and he felt soothing waves wash over him. Some part of him whispered to be wary, because it knew what was coming. It had happened before. 

"You are mine. You belong to me." 

"No."

Pain, fresh and raw snapped through him. 

"You are mine. You belong to me."

"No.

Again the pain, then the soothing waves.

"You are mine. You belong to me."

"Yes." The word slipped from his lips and while part of him howled in protest, he no longer cared. To say yes meant no pain and so he turned away from the howl, let it fade from his awareness. 

"I am your friend, Jason."

Jason. Yes, that was his name. He was Jason and he had a friend.

"Jason is not your name anymore. I will give you a new name as a gift." A hand rested on his brow. "You are now the Hobgoblin."

"Yes."

His friend leaned over him, smiling. "I need you to do something for me, Hobgoblin. The warehouse. The boy who beat you. He had great power."

"Yes."

"I want to meet him. Find him and bring him to me. Will you do that for me, Hobgoblin?"

"Yes."


	6. Future Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A message from the future, a bar fight, Harry Osborn is dense and Clint and Natasha commit motorcycle theft.
> 
> And that's just what happens before noon.

Night Time, The Future . . .

The southern end of the island was the worst part. Once it had been a glorious mecca, but now it was a ruin. The troubles at the turn of the century had left a battleground in their wake and the south end, already in bad shape from the troubles nearly a century before that, had gotten the worst of it. The only things here now were the Degen tribes, the cybergangs and other renegades of society. 

The twin hover limos settled to the ground and were quickly surrounded by armed guards before the passenger door of one opened and a man emerged, causing the guards to straighten, even though their attention was mostly directed outwards. Quickly, the other limo disgorged more guards, some joined those guarding the limos, the rest formed up around the man. 

"No need, Captain," he said. He was tall with a mess of brown hair and dressed in an expensive suit. His features suggested a mixed race ancestry and under the suit he was lean and long limbed. Despite the fact that it was night, he wore sunglasses. "I'm just stopping in for a quick chat. I won't be long." He smiled, showing a pair of small but impressively sharp fangs. "Well, I say chat, but I mean something else."

"But sir," the captain protested. Unlike most, he was well aware that his charge was not exactly completely sane, but there was usually a method to the Regent's madness. 

Usually. Emphasis on the madness. 

"It's fine, Ramon," the Regent assured him. "Besides, I'm not going in there alone." He turned back towards the limo and stretched out his hand. A hammer flew through the door and into his grip as though it belonged there. In a way, it did. 

"Sir."

"Exactly." The Regent rested the hammer on his shoulder and strolled inside, whistling.

The Captain rolled his eyes and looked upwards. High overhead, only faintly visible in the gloom, perversely having survived everything, a single A was attached to the top of the tower. He snorted, what in the name of Almighty Thor could the Regent possibly want in this old relic?

\-----------------------------

Early Morning, The present . . .

If Natasha was surprised to find Coulson in the kitchen, it didn't show. Instead, both of them looked around the room, paying attention to the high spaces. Barton had a habit of hiding in the highest parts of the mansion and waiting for Stark to walk by. Or anyone else, for that matter. 

As turned out, Stark could scream like a little girl. 

In silence, Natasha and Coulson retrieved mugs and the tea before sitting across from each other, each with a drink in hand. 

"Romanoff, you know Clint Barton better than anyone," Coulson said, breaking the silence. "What the hell is going on with him? I know he's always been somewhat . . . irreverent, but lately . . ."

"It's like he's completely lost his mind," Natasha finished. She looked down at her mug. "I think it was Loki." Natasha's hands tightened on the mug. "Everything about Clint was taken, twisted, turned inside out. He had someone in his head and that's . . . unpleasant." She drained the mug in one gulp as though trying to drown memories suddenly boiling up inside her. "Clint feels he has to prove to everyone that in the end, he is bound by nothing and no one."

"You're saying he's trying to deal with his experience by . . . trolling?"

"Yes, and if Stark hasn't figured it out already, he will soon. If they team up, God help us all." 

They both looked up as Thor entered, Mjolnir in hand. The Asgardian's face looked far more troubled then either had ever seen him. Jane entered a moment later, looking frightened.

"Thor?" Coulson asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Gather the Avengers, Son of Coul," Thor said. "I have just had a most strange . . . chat."

\-----------------------------

"Okay," Tony ventured, "here's what I don't get. How did this guy--"

"He said to call him Mike," Thor said.

"Mike. Right. How did Mike get his hands on Mjolnir in the first place? For that matter, if he was actually talking to you from the future . . . how?"

"I'm wondering about that too," Natasha said. "I thought only Thor could use it."

"The enchantment says 'Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor'," Jane pointed out. "There's nothing that says it actually has to be Thor who holds it."

"Mjolnir has many powers," Thor pointed out. "When first given to me, Father said that it would take all my life to know all that Mjolnir could do."

"Something must have happened," Bruce noted. "Something bad. Thor would never relinquish Mjolnir unless he had to."

"Aye," Thor agreed.

"As to the how," Bruce continued, turning to Jane and Thor, "Thor, you said that Mike was the room."

"Aye, I could only see the mirror, but the room behind him was in ruins."

And he just appeared in the mirror?"

Jane nodded. "Thor was on the bed and I was . . . never mind. The point is, the mirror faces the foot of the bed and when Thor stopped paying attention, I looked and saw that it was no longer his reflection in the mirror."

"Mjolnir in the same space at two different times," Bruce nodded and pulled a sheet of paper towards him. "In a nutshell, matter cannot occupy the same point in space as another piece of matter at the exact same time." He pulled the salt and pepper shakers towards him. "Let's say the salt is Mjolnir as held by Thor, and the pepper is Mjolnir as held by Mike." He drew a square in the paper and set the salt in it. "Thor and Mjolnir occupy this point in space. At some point int he future," he switched the salt out for the pepper, "Mike comes along with Mjolnir and occupies the exact same space."

"You're saying that there's a connection," Steve pointed out. "Because Mjolnir is in the same place, Mike can use it to reach back in time to talk to Thor."

"Right," Bruce agreed.

"And he did this because this . . . Kron guy came back?" Tony asked.

"Aye," Thor confirmed, "a mad dog in a human body. It would seem he courts violence, and revels in its causing."

"Meh. Call Animal Control," Tony said dismissively. "Besides, from what Thor said, this Mike guy is from Crazytown."

"Nay, I only said that he did not seem entirely sane."

"Tony, we can't just brush this off," Bruce pointed out. "Kron is from an unknown number of years into the future and he's considered dangerous there. Dangerous enough that Mike felt compelled to warn us and if he brought any future tech back with him . . ."

Steve nodded. "Bruce is right, we can't ignore this. Natasha, Clint. Someone knows something. Saw something. Find them, find him, call it in." Barton and Natasha nodded and left the room. "Bruce, rig a spectrometer. If he did bring back tech, maybe it gives off some sort of energy signature. Load it into the Quinjet and have Morse fly you around the city. As for the rest of us, be ready to move the moment Clint and Natasha or Bruce and Agent Morse find something."

"Jarvis, put tower security on alert," Pepper said. "Male, pale-skinned, late twenties, white-blond hair, approximately six feet. Pass that description on to HSO and the NYPD and say he's a tech-terrorist."

"Not gonna tell them about the time travel?" Tony asked.

Pepper snorted. "I married you. That's enough insanity for my public image, thanks."

"Happy to oblige," Tony replied, toasting her with his coffee cup. 

\--------------------------------

Agent Morse showed up just as Bruce was pushing the spectrometer up the Quinjet's ramp.

"Sorry," she said. "I was in Hoboken when the call came in." She set down the backpack and the soft case she was carrying and helped him push.

"What were you doing-- No. Sorry. None of my business."

"Agent Sitwell." 

"Huh? Oh. Oh! Uh . . ." 

She shrugged and jogged back down the ramp to retrieve the case and the backpack. "What can I say? Good looking people in glasses get me. Especially the glasses." She grinned wickedly at him and Bruce flushed.

Morse burst out laughing. "You're adorable, Doc. C'mon, let's do this whatever it is."

"You don't know?"

"Coulson said I'm to fly you around the city. So, by his command, we fly." She stowed the bags while Bruce connected the spectrometer to the Quinjet's systems. "I figured you can brief me in flight."

"Coulson commands, you obey?" Bruce asked, amused.

"Hill, Coulson, Fury, they're all pretty much the same thing." She flipped switches and the Quinjet hummed as its engines powered on. "Strap in, Doc." Bruce strapped in. 

"It's flying all that hard?" Bruce asked. "I don't fly much and I've often wondered."

"It's always made more sense to me than Biology," Morse replied, "and I have a PhD in that." She shrugged. "For me, best feeling in the world is flying. Better then sex." She pushed the throttle, the Quinjet leaped forward, and then they were in the air. "Well . . . maybe not better, but it's up there."

Bruce felt himself flush again.

\-------------------------------------

New York was noisy, crowded, full of big huge buildings, and Doreen was loving every second of it. In fact, Peter was pretty sure her tail hadn't stopped twitching with glee from the moment Gwen, Harry, and Mary Jane had showed up that morning to announce that it was time Doreen got aquatinted with her new home. 

Tony, clearly distracted by something, had given him and Doreen a few hundred dollars each and sent them off with barely a "have fun". But then Pepper had taken the hundreds back, given them each a pair of twenties, cautioned them to be careful, made sure that they had cell phones and reminded them that dinner was at six sharp. . She'd seemed distracted too, but less than Tony, and Peter chalked it up to what Uncle Ben and Aunt May had referred to as "the marriage thing". 

"So, Tiger," Mary Jane said as they descended the steps into the subway, "what's it like living with the Norse thunder god?"

"He's not a God," Peter corrected, "The Asgardians are extradimensional aliens who had visited earth centuries ago."Jane had been very clear on that. Frighteningly clear.

"So he's not the Thor the myths speak of?"

"He is, the myths just got stuff wrong. I mean, they're myths."

And does he have power over the weather?"

"Well, yes."

"Then he's the Norse thunder god," Mary Jane concluded. 

Peter sighed. 

"So, Tiger," Mary Jane said, linking her arm through his, "what's it like living with the Norse Thunder God?"

"Pop Tarts."

"Pop Tarts?"

"Yeah, when Thor first came to earth, all Jane had was pop tarts and cereal. Thor liked pop tarts and Jane would live on them if it wasn't for Darcy."

Ahead of them, Gwen, who had been walking with Harry and Doreen, turned. "Darcy? Whose Darcy?" She jogged up the steps and took Peter's other arm.

Doreen watched in confusion. 

"Ah, the dance continues," Harry said sardonically as the trio stepped past them.

"Dance?" Doreen asked, looking confused.

"Oh, right, you don't know. So, Pete's the only one in our school who doesn't know that Gwen's been after him for years even though she's like, the only one who understands him when he goes into full on science mode and Mary Jane . . . honestly, no one knows if she's after him or not." Harry started walking down the steps again and sighed.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"Ah . . . just a bit jealous, I guess," Harry shrugged. "I mean, Pete's my bud and all, but he got lucky. Big brain, girls fighting over him, living with Tony freakin Stark. Me, I got this oversized nose and if it's not english, I suck at it. I wish my dad would do science with me, but I barely passed chemistry and that was with Pete pretty much holding my hand every single step of the way."

"Then why take it?"

"Me and Pete can hang, and I need it for college and then maybe my dad--"

Doreen raised one finger. "My Daddy was the greatest man in the world," she said, her tone making it a simple statement of fact. "But he didn't define me. Nor did my Momma. He always said that I was the only one who defined me." 

"But you talk about him a lot."

"I admire him, an' he had a lot of things to say that make a powerful lot of sense, but I ain't him an' I don't wanna be him. You wanna be your daddy when you should be you." She smiled. "An' there ain't nothing wrong with your nose. Reminds me of this eagle I knew."

"An eagle?"

"He lived in this tree behind the trailer park back . . . back home. I always thought he was very handsome."

For the rest of the day, Harry could not shake the idea that he'd been told something very important, but for the life of him, he had no idea what it was.

\------------------------------------------

The Blue Sky Bar had a few things going for it. The drinks were strong, the women were pretty or at least mostly easy on the eyes, and the bartender couldn't remember faces if you paid him. That particular combination tended to attract that certain type of clientele that made it Natasha and Barton's first stop of the day. 

"Blood and Skulls," Natasha noted as they approached the stairs that led down to the Blue Sky's entrance. She indicated the six or seven motorcycles lined up at the curb. "Motorcycle gang and muscle for hire."

"Damn nice bikes, though," Barton said appreciatively. 

"Hm." Natasha agreed.

The inside of the Blue Sky was neat and tidy. Low hung ceilings with polished lamps and pool tables neatly lined up in two rows to the left with chairs and tables to the right facing a small stage. The bar occupied the back wall. Several very large men were seated there and they all turned at the sound of the opening door.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them growled.

"This is Arrow," Natasha replied. "I'm Sword. We're looking for someone."

"Don't care," the leader growled. "I know cops when I see them and there ain't no weasels here, so get out."

"Cops," Natasha scoffed. "Please." She removed her jacket, handing it to Barton. "One more time," she said cooly, walking into the middle of the room. A few of the bikers let out wolf whistles. "We're looking for someone. You either know something, or can tell us who does. Either gets you a hundred."

The gang leader stomped forward and grabbed Natasha's arm. "I told you to get out."

Barton took two steps forward and Natasha turned her head just enough to look at him. "Go sit down, Arrow," she said. "I got this."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I didn't get a workout in this morning."

"Suit yourself," Barton shrugged and sauntered over to the bar as Natasha broke the gang leader's wrist. "Whaddya got on tap?" He set a ten on the bar.

"Old Paul, New Amsterdam, and Polished Goat," the bartender replied. He was a big man, like Rogers, with black hair, mutton chops, a bushy mustache, and blue eyes.

"Gimme a pint of the goat," Barton decided. 

The bartender drew the pint and the ten vanished. "Hope you brought a mop, friend," he advised. "The Skulls don't leave much behind when they rumble with someone."

One of the bikers flew over the bar and smashed into the shelves. "Neither does Sword," Barton replied and took a sip. "Hm, not bad. Boston, right?"

"Maine," the bartender replied and then dodged as a second biker hurtled over the bar and crashed into the cooler. "The boss likes microbrews."

"A man with taste," Barton approved, taking a drink. "So, like Sword said, we're looking for someone. Late twenties, white hair, might have fancy tech. Hear anything?"

"Look, I don't know who you are, but you ain't cops and--"

"Here, friend," Barton said comfortingly, "what sounds worse? Making an easy hundred, or her," he indicated Natasha with a tilt of his head, "finding out you knew something and didn't say anything?"

A third biker crashed into the barstools and the bartender sighed. "Okay, look. Word is that Dino Spinelli brought in some ringer with a fancy flamethrower to off Chilly Navarrone when he couldn't do it himself. For payment, ringer got the plans for some fancy hotel on the West Side. Tenant lists, security layout, the works. Navaronne not only got iced, but then, just last night, they find Spinelli roasted up the same way along with some bird for hire."

"Which hotel?"

"Don't know, don't want to know." 

"Oh?"

"My buddy is a Spinelli guy," the bartender elaborated as out on the floor, Natasha broke a chair with a gang member's head and then used the legs as batons. "He was there when the ringer came for his pay. See, it wasn't just Navaronne that got iced, it was his whole damn family. Men, women, mooks, and the kids." The bartender shuddered. "Dear God, the kids." The bartender leaned closer. "My buddy, he's seen shit. Heavy shit. But this guy, chilled him to the bone."

"Why's that?" Barton took another drink. He was gonna have to convince Stark to lay in a supply of this stuff. It was damn good.

"The guy, he comes back from Navaronne's calm as you please, tells Spinelli all about what he did, and then he smiles like a man that just got a blowjob from God."

Barton raised an eyebrow. "What an interesting and highly sacrilegious visual."

"Yeah, well he thinks he's a writer. Point is, Spinelli had ice for blood and even he couldn't wait for the guy to get the fuck out. This is the guy who ordered the hit on some cop who was getting to close to his operation. If it hadn't been for Navarrone's goons, the cop would be dead too. Lost his family in the crossfire as it was. Damn shame." Something flashed in the bartender's eyes, too quick to be noticed.

"Damn shame," Barton agreed, raising his glass in a toast. Then he turned in his seat. "Almost done?"

Natasha snatched a pool cue from a thug's hand, rammed in between his legs, and then swung it around and dislocated the thug's jaw. "just about," she grunted and turned to face another opponent. "What's he got back there?"

"She knows how to work a stick," the bartender observed.

"You should see my ex-wife," Barton replied and glanced at the back shelf. "That first guy you threw broke the good shit," he told Natasha. "I see some of that Kettle stuff."

"Nothing else?"

"Just the well junk."

"It'll do," Natasha said in disgust.

"Double Kettle on the rocks for the lady," Barton said as the last Skull flew into the air and came down on a table head first. Natasha was already halfway to the bar by the time the Skull hit the floor adminst the splinters.

"On the house, Ma'am," the bartender said respectfully as made the drink and set it before her. "That was impressive."

"I've fought better," Natasha snorted. "It was more of a warmup." She knocked back the vodka in one gulp.

"We got a lead," Barton told her, reaching into Natasha's jacket and pulling out the hundred. "We'd better call it in." He set the hundred on the bar and added a five as a tip. "We were never here," he told the bartender.

"And I have no idea where this money came from," the bartender agreed as the cash vanished.

Barton nodded. "Something for everyone then." 

"Luck, friend."

"Same to you," Barton replied and he and Natasha left. 

Out in the street, Barton looked over the motorcycles again, his eyes drawn one painted in purple, right next to one in red. 

"Clint, no," Natasha protested, but it sounded weak. 

"C'mom, Nat. Besides, I saw you steal their keys."

Natasha sighed and tossed him a set of keys. "Coulson's not gonna be happy."

"He deserves it for not warning me about Bobbi beforehand," Clint muttered, swinging a leg over the bike saddle. Natasha, already on her bike, fired up the engine and pulled away. Clint started up his bike and then looked thoughtfully at the others and then kicked the nearest one over which started a domino effect and knocked them all over. Nodding, he twisted the throttle and followed after Natasha. 

Down in the Blue Sky, the bartender finished sweeping up the damage and and stacking the remains of the table and chairs. It wasn't necessary, but it helped him think. Arrow and Sword, whoever they were, whatever they were, they weren't cops and neither was stiff enough to be the feds. Black ops freelancers maybe, except Sword's moves were clearly based around Systema, which Russian Intelligence at a minimum and that meant deep shit he'd be a fool to wade into without more intel. 

Finishing his sweeping, he took the broom back to the storage closet and gazed thoughtfully at the man on the closet floor. A man who looked exactly like him save for being bound and gagged with a massive goosegg on his head. The bartender nodded to himself and left the door open before returning to the bar. Pulling out a small case, he removed all the money from the register and the safe and placed it inside and then removed the mustache and the mutton chops, setting them on the counter. Then he picked up a metal bat and walked out onto the floor to where the Skulls lay, one whimpering in pain.

The bartender's grip tightened on the bat and his blue eyes blazed with an unholy ferocity as he looked at the bodies. The rage he'd kept bottled up to play his part surged through him as he breathed deep, hate for the Skulls, hate for what they'd done, hate for what they and their ilk were filled him to the brim. The scum on the floor had been beaten to within an inch of their lives, taken an incredible amount of punishment, but it was still less punishment than they deserved. 

Fortunately, that was a discrepancy he could easily correct.

\------------------------------------------------------

When accused of swaggering, most people would deny it. Tony Stark was not most people. Despite the fact that he was no longer CEO of his own company, Tony still walked into the boardroom, a swagger in his step. Behind him. Pepper and Julia Carpenter looked at each other and then rolled their eyes. Tony knew they were rolling their eyes, and they knew he knew. After that, it got complicated. 

"Let's save time, Ladies and Gentlemen," Pepper announced as she picked up her pace. "We know about the Hammer buyout attempt, we know who has pledged their support--"

"And we know none of you are stupid enough to actually sell," Tony finished as he took a stack of folders from Pepper and moved around the table, dropping a folder in front of each person. "StarkCom and StarkTech earnings are climbing, Iron Man Merchandise is raking it in, and we have the marketing rights for the Avengers, and we hit the 500 million mark on Tuesday for that." He waved the last folder in the air. "Now, there's lots of numbers in here, all of which end in lots of zeros, which means we all should be very, very happy and Hammer Industries can go jump off a bridge."

"I thought he hated board meetings," Julia whispered to Pepper. 

"He does," Pepper whispered back. "Being the center of attention on the other hand, he loves that." She began to unpack her briefcase. "Stane was able to lock out Tony because of the distance between Tony and the Board."

"A distance Stane created in the first place," Julia noted.

"Yeah," Pepper grimaced. "Anyways, one of the reasons we came to New York was so Tony could reconnect with the Board and the company and now there's the kids, so he feels he has to set an example."

"That puts him one step above my ex at least," Julia said with a sneer. "Which reminds me."

"It does?"

"I did some digging into Mars 2112 and I'm not so sure we should rule it out." Pepper raised her eyebrows, which Julia took as an invitation to continue. "They're packed most nights, but about all they're doing right now is breaking even and the owners are looking to re-capitalize, if not outright sell. They need to update and upgrade and there's nothing to work with. If we buy in for say, ten percent, it could be the shot in the arm they need."

"You have numbers?"

"Back in my office. After the meeting, I'll send them over. It can't hurt to look into it, at least."

"True enough," Pepper agreed as Tony wound up his opening remarks. "Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen," she said addressing the room as Tony took his seat to her right and Julia to her left. "Shall we begin?"

\-------------------------------

Bruce and Agent Morse returned just in time for lunch. 

"Anything?" Barton asked around a mouthful of chips. 

"Not really," Bruce said, sitting himself at the counter. "Just a beta particle reading on the upper East Side that should probably be checked out." He set a flash drive on the countertop.

"You think it's Kron?" Steve asked.

"I doubt it," Bruce said. "Beta particle research fell through back in the seventies as far as I know. You guys find anything?"

"Sort of," Natasha admitted. "Apparently Kron hired himself out to one of the minor bosses and killed his rival in return for plans to a hotel on the upper West Side. Then he killed said boss."

"Which hotel?" Morse asked. 

"Unknown. The informant got that from a buddy who's a mob peon. Apparently the informant wasn't inclined to name names, if he knew anything to begin with." Coulson explained. He picked up the flash drive and plugged it into his laptop. "Are these levels dangerous?"

Bruce waved his hand. "I'm not sure. No long-term studies were ever done."

"If I may," Jarvis said, "these readings, if measured by by Doctor Jonas Tarin's papers on the beta particle, suggest a reactor of some sort, which was Tarin's original intent. However, like the Arc Reactor, Tarin's design was not cost effective, and unlike Howard Stark, Doctor Tarin did not have the resources to build it anyway."

"Maybe he found some way to pay the bills." Barton suggested.

"Unlikely," Jarvis replied, "as doctor Tarin died in Nineteen Seventy-Three."

"So then who the hell is building a beta particle reactor in New York?" Barton wondered.

Morse grinned. "Let's go ask."

\-----------------------------

Nick Fury put his hands on his hips and turned around once, taking in the entirety of the room. The air stank of ammonia and was filled with the sounds of Shield agents talking quietly as they worked. "Talk to me, Romanov," he said at last.

"A trap, Sir," Natasha replied. "Of sorts. The layout and security features on this building were designed to trip the paranoia circuit in any cop or soldier who comes through the exterior door and force them to take time to search and secure the perimeter before moving inwards." Her mouth thinned in a frown and Fury could sympathize; Both of them specialized in manipulating events and people to their own ends and having the tables turned was upsetting. "Of course, there were no traps, but whoever built this place knew that we'd have to check. Or even take the time to call in for reinforcements before proceeding."

"And just who built this place, and why?" Fury demanded. 

"The building itself was constructed in the fifties," Natasha replied. "It's been retrofitted several times since. The last recorded sale was five years ago to a private holding company which we've discovered does not exist, but still paid their taxes and bills promptly and on time. The name on the records was L. Cranston who has an office on fifty-sixth and also does not exist." 

"A shadow, eh?" Fury made a noise that might have been a chuckle. "I suppose it would have been too much for him to use 'B. Jonas'," he mused. 

"Sir?" 

"Later, Romanov. So why go through all this trouble?" He sniffed. "And what's with the ammonia?"

"That's the interesting part," Natasha replied. She led him through the room down a short hallway and into what Fury recognized as an operating room, but smaller. Over in the corner, Banner and Stark were working on some kind of machine while overhead, a multi-armed disc with a bright light in the middle shined down on what was clearly an operating table. "According to Banner and Stark, this was an operating room configured for open heart surgery on a male patient performed entirely by that robot." She indicated the disc. "We've also found that there are enough supplies here for one person, suggesting that whoever built this place was also the patient. There's a recovery room next door and two other robots. One designed for cleaning, the other a nurse, of sorts." She led him down the hall to the next room. "We found a charging station for an electric wheelchair and abandoned meal. Forensics says that they're pretty sure that whoever was here, they were still here when we came through the exterior door and gone by the time we'd secured the entrance area."

"And the ammonia?"

"Sprayed everywhere. Any DNA samples we find would be useless and the cleaning robot was through. It's last act was to drop the dishes in the sink and then it fried itself. The surgeon and the nursebot were also fried." She pointed. "There's a hidden door across the way with one of those wheelchair elevator platforms that goes down stairs and it's big enough for the bed if necessary. At the bottom is an old maintenance track for the subway and there's signs that some sort of vehicle was there. Rogers and Barton are leading search teams along the track, but they don't expect to find anything."

"So we come in, trigger an alarm, and Mr. Patient Man gets out of bed, rolls across the hall, and rides away. Meanwhile, the robots mop up and then self-destruct."

Natasha nodded. "Everything electronic self-destructed or wiped it's memory." She lowered her voice. "Sir, this all suggests massive planning and preparation years in the making. Coulson thinks this is someone on Stark's level; someone who also has access to vast medical knowledge and deep pockets. The robots are all custom built, with no serial numbers or way to trace their origin."

"What about the robo-doc?" Fury asked. "That's some science-fiction stuff there."

"Not really," Banner disagreed as he entered. "From a purely technical standpoint, surgery is nothing more than knowing where to cut, clamp, and sew. The human element is being able to react instinctively when something goes wrong and wing it if needed. You can't write code for that."

"Which means our boy either figured out how to do so, or was prepared to accept his fate, live or die," Fury concluded. "I do not like the picture this personality profile is painting."

"Oh, it gets better," Coulson told them from the door. "You're gonna want to see this, Sir." He led them back out into the hallway and towards the entryway to the warehouse. "We found a subterranean chamber." He turned to the left towards the exterior wall. "One of the things the police do to catch pot growers is look for excessive electrical use in places where that level seems excessive. Indoor gardens require a great deal of electricity and water."

"So why didn't they turn up here?" Fury asked. 

"Because it wasn't really using the local grid. Oh, it was drawing power, but only enough for an alarm system and some lights, same as anything else in the area." Coulson led them down some stairs. In the middle of the room was a clear cube the size of a washing machine and inside the cube suspended between what looked like some electromagnets was a slowly pulsing sphere of blue energy." That's what's powering the micro hospital upstairs. Tech says it's a beta particle reactor in shut down mode. The manual controls have been slagged and the main computer has fried itself. We couldn't start it back up if we wanted too." He turned and picked up something from the top of the nearby crate. It was a piece of metal, one end was scorched. "We found this tossed into the corner. Looks like our mystery man made his first mistake."

Banner took the piece of metal and turned it over in his hands. "Director, I'll need to run tests to be sure, but I think this is synthetic vibranium. Huh."

"'Huh?'" Fury repeated. 

Banner held up the metal piece and pointed at one end. Engraved into the metal was a heart shape.

"Not a mistake," Fury snarled, "that's a message. Coulson, the Avengers' top priority is this guy. I want him neutralized and I don't care if he's in chains or a body bag."

"Isn't that a little harsh, Director?" Bruce ventured. "I mean, we don't know why he did this. This could all be an act of desperation to save his own life or someone he cared about."

"Then why not go to an actual hospital?" Fury asked. "Heart surgery is relatively routine and if you can afford all this, you can afford human beings. No, Doctor Banner, you do not go through this much trouble unless you intend to start some shit, so no, not harsh at all."

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "I suppose not," he mused. 

\---------------------------------

Since Doreen and Peter had entered the picture, Tony Stark had displayed a new, somewhat baffling behavior. Pepper was used to Tony's weirdness, even found it a bit charming, but there was always a method to his madness and it usually involved something blowing up. But not this time. 

Every day, usually just after lunch and without fail, Tony would close himself in a small workspace in the corner of their room with a laptop and and a Starkpad and write for a few hours. Pepper didn't think he'd snapped and was writing a manifesto, and he'd never struck her as the book writing type, so exactly what he'd found to write about was a mystery. Especially since he'd said that one of the reasons he'd invented Jarvis was so that he'd never have to write again.

He'd been doing this for a couple of weeks now and while Pepper was pleased that Tony was doing something that didn't involve Iron Man, the Avengers, or something to make the Stark Industries lose stock points (she hoped), she was beyond curious as to what he'd found that was holding his interest. When she'd asked Bruce, he only shrugged. 

Because of Stark Industries business and then Tony getting called away to the Upper East Side, it had been after dinner when Pepper had finally decided to flat out ask. Peter and his friends were ensconced in the Rec Room and the rest of the Avengers were doing their thing, which meant now was a good time as any.

"Tony?" 

"Yes, Dear," Tony responded his tone indicating that he wasn't really paying attention to the outside world. "Are we done with this?" 

"Indeed, Sir," Jarvis responded. "The next book is Jonathan DeGlaser's Computer Psychology, Fourth Edition, Page Three Hundred and Seventy-Four, as cited in your notes. When you were at MIT, the book was in first edition, however, the relevant section is unchanged. I have updated the citations section accordingly."

"Hm," Tony grunted, which was Tony-Speak for "Thanks."

"Also, Sir, you have forty-five minutes remaining in this session." 

Tony grunted again and Pepper decided she could wait forty-five minutes. Grabbing her Starkpad, she took the time to answer some emails and attend to some minutiae matters until the sound of a foghorn rolled through the room and Tony stopped typing.

"Well done, Sir," Jarvis informed him. "You have typed some four thousand words and completed ten more pages with fifteen more to go. You have an accuracy score of eighty-five percent on grammar and ninety-three on spelling, making an improvement of five percent up from yesterday and nine percent overall."

Pepper looked up from the seating area and raised an eyebrow. "Tony, what are you doing?"

"Huh? Oh, hi, Pep."

"Hi, Tony. Tony, what are you writing?"

"Ah . . . it's old project left over from college."

"Tony, you have no unfinished projects from MIT . . . and why are you wearing spectacles? Your vision is beyond perfect."

"Hm? Oh." Tony removed the slim glasses from his nose. "Barton found them in some dollar store. He said if I'm writing so much, I should use them." He held the glasses at arm's length. "I have to admit, I feel all writer-ish with them on." He put the glasses back on and grinned. "Awesome, right?"

"Okay, I guess," Pepper asked, trying to ignore the urge to throw Tony to the floor and have her way with him because she was now realizing that Tony in glasses was a definite turn-on. "But Tony, what are you writing?"

Tony scratched the back of his head. "Well, I mean . . . I've been trying to pay more attention to the company and then the kids . . . I mean, I can't really . . . it's my thesis." Pepper's eyebrows disappeared somewhere into the stratosphere. "Well . . . thesis-es . . .?"

"Theses, Sir," Jarvis corrected.

"Tony, you grad -- you never competed any of your theses?"

"Well . . . no. See, being me, they sort of just passed me from undergrad to grad to doctoral and then told everyone I graduated for the PR. I didn't care at the time, but now . . . responsibility, you know?" 

Pepper sighed and then smiled. "I know." She crossed the room and perched in his lap. "Now, then, Mister Stark . . . speaking of responsibility . . ." she kissed him very seriously.

Moments later, the glasses went flying. Oddly, despite their cheapness, they did not break. 

\------------------------------------

Home for Chris was a third floor converted loft in Brooklyn. The neighborhood wasn't the greatest, but the rent was cheap enough that with roommates, Chris could pay his bills.

"I owe, I owe, oh dear God, how I owe," he muttered as he climbed the stairs. For fun, he was talking in Russian, but the mantra soothed him. He fumbled with his keys and then unlocked the door.

"You call that fucking?" demanded a voice from inside. "I thought you were a man!" Whatever else the voice had to say was muffled by howls of laughter. 

Ah. Phil was back. 

Sighing, Chris closed the door and walked into the main room. On the couch, surrounded by chinese food and a six pack of beer, Phil Urich lounged, clad only in a tank top and boxers, hooting with laughter as on the TV, a blonde with breasts the size of the Hulk's head berated some poor man covered in sweat as he worked to pleasure a brunette whose moaning, while enthusiastic, didn't quite match the bored expression on her face and the guy looked like he'd rather be elsewhere. 

So did the blonde, for that matter.

"Yo," Phil greeted him, waving his chopsticks. On the screen, the blonde delivered a detailed, obscenity laden assessment of the man's carnal abilities which sent Phil off with more howls of laughter.

"Hey, Man," Chris replied, setting down his bag. Chris had met Phil back in college, and they'd gotten along well enough that when their other roommate, Richard, had gotten a line on this place, they'd both signed on. However, it was not until after the fact that Chris had learned two key facts about Phil; he was an unmitigated slob and he regarded porn movies as hilarious comedies which he insisted at watching at near top volume. Chris could hardly cry foul on the first and as for the porn, well, he'd heard of worse. Rich wasn't in much, but since he and Phil both paid their share of the rent on time, Chris had decided he could live with it. 

"So how was your week?" Phil asked. "Lots of conference rooms booked in the name of the mighty Stark Empire?"

"Got a promotion, actually," Chris said, "no more internship. Raise too, I think." 

"Awesome." Phil pulled a bottle of beer from the case and lobbed it in Chris' general direction, who had to do a half hop to his left to catch it before it hit the wall. "You want some?" He waved the chopsticks at the chinese food boxes. "Got extra."

"Chang's again?"

"Dude. The delivery chick is hot." 

Chris couldn't quite argue with that. "Eh, why not?" He popped the beer cap off, dumped his coat and tie next to his bag and reached for the nearest box of food. "What's this one?"

"'Sex aliens in my closet'. The blonde chick is possessed by this alien whose gonna make humans fuck each other into letting it take over the world. Except the chick it possessed is a total nymphomaniac and she has sex with a guy, the alien will die. Or something."

"Ah, a cinematic masterpiece," Chris replied with heavy sarcasm. 

"Yeah. Oh, had a Rich sighting."

"Seriously?" Chris shoveled some sweet and sour spicy chicken into his mouth. Phil was an editor or something over at J3 Media and occasionally had to travel, but Rich was gone for weeks at a time and neither had any idea what his job was. All Rich would tell them was that he worked in law enforcement.

"Yeah, he was on his way out when I got in. Left his check for the rent on the table. Swear to God, he's just renting his closet so he has a place to hang his clothes while he's off killing spies." Phil was convinced that Rich was the American version of James Bond. "Anyways, left my check on the table too."

"If you think you're gonna get off like that," demanded the blonde, "you've got brains smaller than your balls."

\------------------------

Somewhere in deep space, the ship plunged through the cosmos, only one of it's mighty engines lit, traveling more on momentum than the engine. It's hull was scorched and burnt, only some of it's weapons still functional, and others were outright missing. Inside, the ship fared much worse. Many of its compartments were flooded, or filled with poisonous gas, or simply inaccessible. That the ship was still functional at all was a testament to the quality of its construction and the dedication of those who had served aboard. Perhaps even moreso was the fact that it's cargo, it's precious, precious cargo remained intact.

Sadly, where the crew had once numbered a dozen, now there was only one. He sat in his seat in the control room, eyes glued to the screen before him. He could do nothing but wait, and that did not sit well with him; he was a warrior, not a Maker, and right now, a Maker was needed more than a warrior ever was. Grimly, he focused on the distant yellow sun ahead. Energy bursts from that star suggested inhabitants with advanced skills. People who could repair the ship, and, perhaps, even offer sanctuary, if not a new home. 

He held out no hope that he would find any of that there, but he was without choice; The inhabitants of that system must be contacted and somehow, he must secure their aid, even if in the end, to traffic with them proved dangerous to his mission.

On the other hand, he reflected, he who was without choice could prove to be the most dangerous of all.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those keeping score:
> 
> \- The man in red from last chapter is Daredevil. I have no real plans for him, so that's a freebie.  
> \- The fake bartender in this chapter is the same one as the man with "hands of death" in the last chapter. If you haven't figured out who he is yet, shame.  
> \- If you're wondering if the Fantastic Four show up, the answer is maybe. While I have a plan, it's flexible and I do have a few ideas . . .
> 
> For those scratching their heads over Fury and Natasha's exchange in this chapter, it's a reference to the Shadow, the main character in a series of pulp novels and was made into a decent (not great, but decent) movie starring Alec Baldwin back in the early 90's. The Shadow had an office where the name on the door was "B. Jonas" that was essentially a message drop. The Shadow's civilian identity was Lamont Cranston (except it wasn't). So when Fury muses that it would have been too much for mystery man to use "B. Jonas", he's simply agreeing that you can only take a reference so far.
> 
> This has no particular meaning other than the fact that Fury, the mystery man and I all read pulp novels and Natasha doesn't.


	7. Mystery Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember the guy in the hospital from chapter 5? The one who wants to kill Tony Stark? He also built that hospital in Chapter 6. 
> 
> Yeah, him. 
> 
> In the words of a certain putrid poltergeist, its showtime.

* * *

 

The nondescript van pulled up to the curb and they exited, the vehicle rocking slightly under their weight. 

Tapping a crowbar in his hand, the leader looked up at the building and then nodded once. His three companions nodded back and then they all moved towards the nearby alleyway. 

They were here tonight to commit a murder. While they harbored no particular malice towards their target, they were professionals and had received very specific instructions. 

There was work to do.

\--------------------------------

Mary Jane turned up just after breakfast with Gwen in tow, which made Tony nervous. On the scale of dangerous redheads, the teenager ranked up there somewhere near Natasha - not with her, nothing on earth (with the exception of maybe the Hulk) was more dangerous than Natasha - but she was high on the scale.

 "We want Peter and Doreen to attend M3," Mary Jane announced. Behind her, Gwen became very interested in the ceiling.

 "Ah," Tony began, "That is, this sort of thing is Pepper's department and -" Pepper shoved him into a chair. "And I am going to shoulder that responsibility because I love her and we are a team." Barton snickered. Tony ignored him. "So, let's have it."

 "Peter told us that you didn't know where he and Doreen would go to school. M3 is the perfect solution. Peter is already a student there and Doreen is also used to the public school system. M3 is one of the highest ranked schools in the city and Doreen is skilled with cooking, satisfying the school requirements that you have aptitude for the arts or sciences. M3 alumni include several city officials, the state treasurer and the current Atlantic City City Manager." 

 "Ms Watson is correct, Sir," Jarvis told him. "In fact, city wide, M3 ranks only behind Metro Science and the Tomorrow Academy, your Alma Mater."

 "Thus satisfying the educational and prestige requirements," Mary Jane said smugly, crossing her arms. 

 "What about security?" Pepper asked. "As soon as we put our names on the registration, everyone will know."

 Mary Jane smiled. "Thought of that." Her hand flashed out and she snapped her fingers under Steve's nose. "What is Tony Stark's actual name?" she barked.

 "Ah . . . Tony - no - Anthony! Anthony Stark."

 "Who is he married to?"

 "Pep - I mean, Virginia Potts!"

 Tony pulled out his wallet and checked his driver's license. It did say that his name was Anthony. "I thought I changed my name."

 "You never signed the forms," Pepper murmured.

 Mary Jane pointed at Tony. "What building is at three fifty fifth street? And no asking Jarvis." 

 Tony thought about it. "I have no idea," he admitted after several minutes.

 "Really?" Mary Jane asked. "It's right out there." She pointed out the window. Tony followed her finger and found himself looking at the Empire State Building.

 "I don't get it," Steve said. "No offense, Miss, but I don't follow."

 Mary Jane smiled. "Come back to school, the paparazzi is going to be looking for Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. What they won't be looking for is Peter Parker and Doreen Green, whose legal guardians are Anthony E. Stark and Virginia Potts. It goes like this; during Back to School, every student, new and returning, has to turn in their registration cards, where the names and addresses are verified in the computers. But with nearly 900 students and a bunch of other things to do, the office ladies don't do much more than look at the card to see that everything is filled out. They don't have time to read the cards and after the first hour, they're too busy to give them much more than a glance. Since it takes roughly three hours to process everyone, we just slip them in at the two hour mark." 

 "But won't someone notice if they say they're living in Stark Tower?" Bruce asked.

 "Stark Tower, yes. Two hundred Park Avenue, no," Mary Jane replied. She pointed out the window. "This is New York. We don't think of addresses unless we absolutely have too. That's not Three Fifty Fifth street, that's the Empire State Building. Everyone knows where the Empire State Building is, and, there's nothing in the postal code that says the address has to include the building name." She shrugged. "So long as they don't get into trouble, no one is gonna pull up their records." 

 "Except they will get into trouble," Coulson spoke up. "It's a good plan, Miss, but you missed a part; Green is a mutant, and visibly so. Sooner or later, someone, teacher, student, or parent, is going to say or do something and then what?"

 "Oh. Right." Mary Jane looked downcast.

 Coulson smiled. "I said you missed something, I didn't say you should throw it out," Mary Jane's face brightened. "A solid plan always takes into account the people who can mess it up. So, you have to ask; who are the troublemakers?"

 Next to Tony, Bruce leaned down. "Is it my imagination, or did Coulson just take on a student?"

 "Imagination," Tony said, perhaps a little too quickly. 

 ------------------------------------

 Pepper sipped from her coffee cup and looked over at Coulson. "You feeling okay, Phil?"

 "Of course," Coulson replied.

 "It's just that you have the same look on your face that my dad did the first summer we kids all went off to summer camp at the same time and he and Mom would be alone in the house. Then again, he also had that look whenever my brother Parker was out of sight for more than two minutes."

 Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Special needs?"

 "Holy terror."

 "Ah."

 "I do appreciate this, Phil, but I would have thought that you'd be off with the Avengers."

 Coulson shrugged. "It's not my op, it's Sitwell's. They should get to know him." Pepper's raised eyebrows invited further explanation. "I got lucky, Potts," Coulson told her, gently touching his chest. "Next time, I might not be."

 "Sitwell's your successor."

 "Yeah." Coulson looked up at the descending numbers of the elevator. "A handler must be absolutely trusted by those he handles because sometimes, the orders given can't be explained, because there's no time to do it. In a perfect relationship, the agents follow orders because they know the handler wouldn't be giving them otherwise. Which means they have to know each other." He cocked his head. "Rogers is a professional, Romanov and Barton have worked with Sitwell before, and even if Morse wasn't sleeping with him, she could care less who's in charge as long as she gets to fly. Thor and Banner will follow Rogers' lead, which leaves Stark as a potential problem."

 Pepper smiled. "'Potential Problem' is not a label I'd assign to Tony." The elevator doors dinged as they opened onto Stark Industries' offices in Stark Tower.

 Coulson made a noise that might have been a chuckle and then he shifted his body language as they came in sight of the waiting room, falling into the role of corporate drone. However, he was studying the two people seated there. The man sat in a simple metal wheelchair, dressed in a plain blue suit. His hands were folded in his lap and his head was devoid of any hair, including eyebrows. Although Xavier's file stated that he'd been in the chair for close to twenty years, he was still lean and trim, with bright and alert eyes.  His companion had skin the color of pure chocolate, with hair white as clouds and eyes the color of sapphires. She was clad in a simple suit over a lean, slim body.

 She was the most beautiful woman Phil Coulson had ever seen.

 "Professor Xavier, Pepper Potts," Potts said, holding out her hand. "This is Phil Anderson from Stark Legal."

 Xavier's handshake was firm, skin slightly on the cool side. "Thank you for your time, Ms Potts," Xavier said. "This is Ororo Munro, the Institute's legal counsel."

 "I am pleased to meet you," Munro said. Her voice had a transatlantic accent, a slight bass. Like Rogers, she had the sort of voice that people turned to listen to. Her grip was also firm, warm skin, and Coulson could feel the calluses and small scars that told of a fighter. Someone like Romanov. How interesting. 

 "Shall we?" Potts asked, gesturing to her office doors.

 ----------------------------------------------------

 "Professor, let me just say once again that this is just a informational meeting," Potts said. "No decisions will be made today."

 "Of course," Xavier replied. "As your husband is part of the Avengers, I assume that you've reviewed the reportedly extensive file Shield has on me." His eyes flicked sideways to Coulson. 

 "I've been briefed," Pepper replied, her face a perfect mask of friendliness.

 "Then to answer your first question, I believe that the future of all mankind rests on the cooperation of humans and mutants working together and the Xavier Institute was founded out of that belief. Every student of the Institute is taught to use their gifts to benefit mankind and help push our species forward."

 "Including combat training?" Coulson asked. It was probably a tactical error, but that side look at him had told Coulson that "Phil Anderson" was fooling no one. 

 "As a means of self-defense or to protect other people," Xavier replied blandly. "A mutant with say, the ability to command fire would be wrong to use it on someone who could not defend themselves against it, mutant or no. Understand, Ms. Potts, I do not condone violence or war. I have seen far too much of both. However, as much I hope for humans and mutants to come together in peace, i know it will not be that easy." He smiled. "As to your next question, I'm afraid that's a proprietary matter." Xavier's face turned grim and very serious. "If the key to how I find my students ever fell into the wrong hands, nothing could protect them and I will die before I allow that to happen." The smile returned with such ease that Coulson wondered which expression was genuine or if either of them were.

 "Should I bother asking my third question?" Pepper asked lightly. "You seem to be reading my mind, Professor."

 "That would be an invasion of privacy," Xavier replied. "But these sort of meetings tend to follow a certain order. To wit, the Institute offers its students the chance to be themselves, wholly themselves, without fear of being the different one. The outsider. But by the same token, the students must also live in the world and so we've partnered with Westchester High School, which not only provides them with social interaction outside the institute, but also educational opportunities. Furthermore . . ."

 As Xavier talked, Coulson studied Munro. As yet, she'd hadn't spoken, but Coulson was fairly sure that she was one of those people who didn't speak unless she had something to say. Hill was the same way and then he blinked as he suddenly realized that whatever Xavier was actually up to, Munro was his second in command. For a moment, his handler instincts kicked in and he felt his hands twitch towards his phone to order a strike and cut off the head of Xavier's snake. But then Munro did something he'd only ever seen Romanov do. 

 She looked at him. 

 It was the same look he'd seen Romanov give hundreds of times. It was a look that very simply said, "Don't." 

 Coulson was not the sort of man who shrank back when threatened, but neither was he a fool, and no one could give that kind of look without being willing and able to back it up. It was simply not the sort of thing you could fake. For a moment, he weighed his options. Romanov, he knew, would be able to get to him before he would be able to send off the message, but he didn't know what Munro was capable of. 

 "Excuse me, Ms Potts," Jarvis interrupted, saving Coulson further deliberation. "But Mr. Stark has just informed me that the Avengers are five minutes away and that he is bringing an addition to the family."

 Pepper was up and halfway to the door before she remembered that she had guests. Coulson was already past her and throwing open the door. 

 "It's quite all right, Ms Potts," Xavier said. "I was about to suggest a break anyway." Which they all knew was a total fabrication, but Pepper nodded her thanks for his understanding and ran out.

 In the waiting room, she saw Chris setting some papers on the secretary's desk and grabbed his arm. "Chris!" She pointed at her office. "Show Xavier and Munro to the V.I.P. lounge and see to their needs." She ran off.

 "Ooookaaaay . . ." Chris muttered and poked his head into the office to see a bald guy in a wheelchair and a (really hot) woman. "Uh . . . Ms Potts asked me to invite you to the V.I.P lounge and um . . . refreshments?"

 ------------------------------------------

 Pepper arrived just as the Quinjet was rolling into the hanger. Her emotions were a whirl as she hovered between being ready to strangle Tony and trying to figure out what to say to the new boy or girl Tony had seen fit to promise the moon to without consulting her. 

 "What the hell?" Coulson murmured, staring at the Quinjet's fuselage. It was then that Pepper noticed the blast marks and the scorches on the wings and her need to strangle Tony turned into fear. Fear that grew as the jet reached the turntable, rotated around and she saw the hatch had been badly damaged. 

 With a groan, the hatch fell open and Steve emerged first, his arm around a man whose arm was in a sling and a very attractive woman at his side, talking to the man very softly, her hands on his good arm  trying to comfort him. 

 "Get that over here," Steve snapped at the med team which was normally there for Bruce, "we have injured here! And send two more teams." 

 Down the ramp came Banner leaning on Barton while Sitwell, a bandage around his head and a split on his leg was carried by Thor. They were followed by Natasha and Tony who were escorting a man whose hands were bound behind his back, had a black eye, and his lip was swollen. Were it not for the fact that he'd been badly beaten, he'd have been handsome. 

 "Hey, Phil," Tony called out as they approached. "This is my new pal Markie. Say hello, Markie." The man snarled something in Portuguese and Tony's grin got bigger. "What's that? You want to be alone with the Black Widow?"  The man visibly shrank in on himself, looking fearfully at Natasha. "Now say hello, Markie."

 "Hello," the man said in a tired voice. 

 "Marcos Trinidad," Natasha supplied. "Arms runner and small-time crime lord. We apparently parked the Quinjet in his territory, so he tried to claim sovereignty over it. Sitwell and Morse objected. The civilians are Maria and her husband Tomas. Maria was Banner's neighbor back when he lived in the area and they provided shelter and  local intelligence. Tomas was injured trying to help and Stark offered them employment here in the states."

 "See, Markie?" Tony said, "I was right. What does crime pay?"

 "Nothing," Trinidad sullenly replied, as though by rote.

 "Barton and Stark spent the trip back amusing themselves with Trinidad," Natasha continued, sounding slightly annoyed. "We brought him back because some of the weapons he had were old Hydra designs with similarities to Phase Two."

 "And we taught him a pirate song," Tony added, "wanna hear?" 

 "Later, maybe," Coulson replied tiredly. "What about the primary target?"

 "Neutralized," Romanov said promptly. "The Neogenics lab was being funded by drug sales. Shield Brazil is handling cleanup, but when we went looking for the lab head, all we got was a name; Arim Zola. He'd apparently hired himself out to the Secret Empire and was using the drug to "recruit" test subjects for the Neogenics project. The drug was addictive enough that the victims would agree to do anything for a fix. Rogers is not happy."

 "No, he wouldn't be."

 Not to interrupt," Pepper broke in, "but Jarvis mentioned a new addition?" She looked down as she felt something cold and wet touch her leg. At her feet was a dog, the very definition of a mutt. His fur had visible matting and his eyes were warm and brown. He could clearly use a bath, but he seemed friendly.

 "Pepper, this is Science. Science the science dog. He's the Avengers new Mascot." Tony grinned at her and again Pepper felt the urge to strangle Tony, this time for misleading her.

 "Banner befriended the animal during his time in Brazil," Romanov explained. "When Maria married and moved across town, Science followed."

 Pepper sighed. She supposed a dog was better than a third child, but she still intended to tear a strip off of Tony later that night. "You're responsible for getting him cleaned up and fixed, Tony."

 "Fixed. You mean . . .?" Tony asked.

 "Yes, Tony. That."

 -------------------------------------------------

 Sometimes, it seemed like Chris' entire life had been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Such as being the first person Stark saw as they rode back up to the Penthouse,(Chris had been getting on to go down) then being handed the leash and a S.I. credit card and told to have the dog fixed and cleaned up. What kind of name was Science for a dog anyway?

 Fortunately, Science had accepted the visit to the vet without complaint, and even the bath had gone well, though now, as they rode the elevator back up to the Penthouse, Science kept sniffing himself and then looking at Chris with a puzzled, slightly accusatory  expression. 

 "Don't look at me, Pal," Chris warned, shifting his grip on the bundle he held in his other hand. "I didn't decide that 'Sherbert Delight' was a good choice for shampoo."

Science cocked his head, and Chris sighed. The girl who did the grooming for the vet had been a major hottie and Chris had been more interested in trying to score points so he'd agreed to all of her suggestions without question. So, technically he had decided. And he hadn't gotten her number either.

As though reading his mind, Science's mouth dropped open in a definite grin. 

"Oh shut up," Chris grumbled as the elevator opened to reveal Stark and two teenagers, a boy and a girl.  The boy was kind of puny looking, and the girl had a squirrel  tail . . . Chris stared for a moment and then gave it a mental shrug.  Phil's habit of going to fast food places in costume was just as strange and this was New York; He'd seen even stranger than the girl and Phil put together. A moment later, it occurred to him that these were the fabled Stark Children and he should probably forget that he ever saw them as soon as possible.

"Well hello!" The girl exclaimed, dropping to her knees and running her fingers through Science's fur. Science, sensing a soft touch, promptly licked her from chin to hairline, making her giggle.

 Don't touch the back of the neck," Chris warned. "There's flea stuff there. It's gotta sit for a few more hours."

 "Adorable, isn't she?" Stark asked.

 "Yes sir," Chris agreed. "She's very pretty."

 "She's also fifteen."

 "Which is totally not my type," Chris replied without hesitation.

 Stark gave him a hard look before nodding. "I thought that dogs had the cone thing when they got . . . snipped." 

 "That's in two weeks, the vet didn't have time today for more then an exam." Chris reached into his jacket. "I have the papers for that as well as his registration and license and . . ." Chris took a look at Stark's face and then put the papers back in his jacket. "And I will give them to Ms. Potts."

 "You know what, Igor? You're okay. Now, what's in the bag?"

 "Stuff for Science." Stark grinned. "The dog," Chris clarified.

 "Dogs need stuff?"

 "Yes, Tony," snarked the boy from where he was filming the Squirrel Girl and Science with his phone. "Dogs need stuff."

 "Food bowl," Chris pointed out, pulling it from the bag. "And food to go with it."

 "So the custom diamond doggy dish and personal chef are out?" Stark asked.

 "I thought rich people stayed rich because they were cheap."

 "Lies. Lies told by people who are not me."

 "Incoming projectile," Jarvis warned.

 "What?" Stark's head snapped around just as the window exploded inwards. 

 "STARK!" roared a new voice, deep and bull throated. "It's time you answered for your greed!" 

 Science, once again demonstrating his intelligence, bolted from the room.

 "Peter! Doreen!' Stark yelled. "Bunker! Now!"

 Standing in the window was a man in blue and silver armor, a long metal tube in his hands and standing atop some sort of hovering disc. "Did you think you wouldn't be found out? Did you think your murdering all the people those drugs could help would go unnoticed?" The intruder pointed his staff at Tony, who dodged the blue and white blast by diving behind one of the couches, the blast leaving a large hole in the backrest.

 "Hey!" Stark yelled. "That's a Lawrence Terra! Direct from the man himself at his gallery!"

 "Is that on Madison?" 

 "He moved to Third and Midtown two months ago. What drugs? Jarvis, do I know anything about drugs?"

 "Only the kind on the top shelf of the bar, Sir."

 "There. See?"

 Another blast split the couch in two and the man leapt off his disc. Seeing his chance, Chris sprang. "Run, Mr. Stark!" he yelled, wrapping himself around the armored man's body. "I got him!" 

 "Do you?" The armored man asked and then pried Chris off himself and threw him at the window. An unbroken part of the window and Chris covered his face with his arms. This was going to suck. It was (more or less) according to plan, but it was going to suck. 

 Tony stared at the second hole and then focused his furious glare on the man. "I'm not going to kill you for that," he snarled. "Not at first."

 "You think I enjoyed that? Do you think this gives me pleasure?" Another blast. "This is about accountability! About responsibility! About you and everyone else like you learning that your greed doesn't pay!"

 "Okay, one, there's no one else like me, two, maybe you haven't noticed, but I regularly put on an armored suit and go fight bad guys, so I really don't know where this whole greed thing comes from. Three, and again, what drugs? I have no idea what you're talking about!"

 "Sir," Jarvis reported, "those blasts are composed of Beta Particle energy." And then in Tony's ear, Jarvis continued. "Captain Rogers and Agent Barton are en route, eta six minutes. Thor has not responded, but his locator beacon shows him moving in the tower's direction, eta two point five minutes. Agents Romanov, Coulson and Morse are moving into position via the stairwell. " A pause. "Sir, the Beta Particle blasts have caused significant interference in the tower's internal communication network and I am limited to the Avengers Comnet. I cannot summon your armor, ascertain the location of the children and Ms. Potts, or lock down the building." 

"Any good news?" Tony muttered. 

"The Giants have scored two runs in the fourth inning against the Red Sox and Stark Industries stock stands to close for the day with three point gain." That _was_ good news.  'If I may suggest, Sir, try to get him talking to buy time until Thor arrives. Eta, two point three minutes." Which was probably a better plan than trying to run for it. 

"So you're the heart patient," Tony said out loud. "I gotta admit, that surgery robot, those micro servos, you build all that? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm impressed, but I gotta ask, one engineer to another;  A Lassetter array for the micro servos? Seriously? You do know that a Brensen setup is better in every way, right?"

"Silence!" the man bellowed and was then knocked aside by a red blast of energy. Standing in the window was a man in black armor. "What?"

 "The what is kicking your ass," the man replied in a hollow, almost robotic voice, "and the why is throwing that guy out the window. Lucky for him, I was there to dump him on the nearest roof." There was the sound of metal against metal as the gauntlet on his left wrist popped out claws. "The name is Darkhawk, who the hell are you?"

 "My name? My name is CARDIAC!!"

 "Hey, Blackbird Pie," Tony called out. "Do me a favor, find out how he said his name in all caps like that."

 Cardiac snarled and fired off a blast in Tony's direction, and Darkhawk moved in, leading with his claws and carving three deep gashes across Cardiac's gauntlet. Cardiac responded by punching Darkhawk in the face and they settled down to trading blows.

  "Sir, is it wise to point out out the design flaws of someone's engineering when that person is trying to kill you?" Jarvis asked.

 "One, I was trying to get him monologuing, two, have you _seen_ a Lassetter array? They suck in every way possible and then go ahead and invent new ways." Tony scrambled to a heavy chair, eyes on the door. "New, horrible sucky ways."

 "Indeed, Sir, I have the complete schematic on file," Jarvis replied. "However, monologuing usually results from the villain explaining their plan resulting in either a fatal flaw being exposed or the hero being given time to act in a decisive manner to achieve victory." Out on the floor, Darkhawk threw Cardiac into an end table. "It does not," Jarvis continued," include insulting the villain's design sense except possibly in cases of trope aversion, lampshade hanging and deconstruction."

"What hanging lampshades?" Tony asked. "And why do I feel like I'm getting a lecture from  Stephen Fry?"

 "I have been studying the TV Tropes website and episodes of Jeeves and Wooster. I have found both to be highly instructive."

 "Stark," Coulson broke in, "What's going on?" 

 "Cardiac wants to kill me, Darkhawk is fighting Cardiac, and my computer is hanging lampshades and talking like Stephen Fry. Where are Pepper and the kids?"

 "Potts was last seen escorting Xavier and his associate to a secure location," Coulson replied. "No info Parker or Green. Sorry." 

 Tony nodded and pushed away his concern. "The one in black is a friendly, I'm pinned down and Jarvis can't summon my armor. I need an exit."

 "Copy," Romanov said. Moments later, she burst from the hallway with a gun in each hand. She might not be as good as Barton, but she came damn close and bullets clanged off Cardiac's suit.

 Cardiac whirled to deal with the new threat and Darkhawk cut three new chunks from his armor. Snarling, Cardiac elbowed Darkhawk in the throat and returned fire.

 "This is Agent Phil Coulson of Shield!" Coulson shouted as he and Morse emerged, "Cardiac, you are under arrest, drop your weapon and stand down!" 

 "STARK!" Cardiac bellowed and began firing, switching targets rapidly and forcing Tony to seek cover behind an overturned coffee table as Morse and Coulson opened fire. Darkhawk tried to wrest the staff from Cardiac's hands, but the armored man was too strong and Darkhawk was hit by several shots and got thrown, leaving a trail of green blood, and landed behind an overturned love seat.

 "You okay there, Blackbird Pie?" Tony called out.

 "Yeah! Just . . . just . . . oh sonuvabitch! Just . . . owwwww . . . j- jus . . . oh, god, g-gimme a minute."

 "Thor ETA is ninety seconds," Jarvis informed him.

 "TONY!" Carrying the Mark 8 between them, Peter and Doreen ran out of the hallway, slinging the coffin-like case between them as only a pair of super strong teenagers could. "We got him!"

 As the case slid across the floor, Peter and Doreen leapt at Cardiac, Peter covering the man's face with webbing, while Doreen went for the legs, trying to knock him over. Tony knelt as the case scanned him and then began unfolding into the Mark 8 armor. He was suddenly furious with Cardiac and he really wanted to beat the man to a pulp. Rising from his crouch as the HUD came online, he scanned the room. Romanov was down, and Cardiac was ripping the webbing from his face with glowing hands. Behind the bar, Morse, and Coulson were reloading and he couldn't see Peter or Doreen. "Cardiac!" Iron Man shouted, stomping over to Cardiac and punching him in the face.  Then, just because, he hit him again. And then a third time. 

 "So be it," Cardiac replied and jabbed Iron Man in the chest, going straight for the Arc Reactor, which was well shielded and was unaffected. A second punch, however,  briefly scrambled the HUD in Iron Man's helmet. 

 "Jarvis, memo to me; Mark Nine is to be more capable of hand to hand." Tony grumbled as he jabbed at Cardiac's shoulder.

 "You may also wish to bestow the same improvement on yourself, Sir," Jarvis replied. "You have lapsed in your hand to hand practice with Mr. Hogan."

"I gotta go with what I do best, J." 

 "I do not believe that the ability to drink a bottle of  scotch in ten seconds would be of any help here, Sir."

 A bolt of lightning flashed between them. "Cease this now!" 

 "Thor, buddy, you need to--" Iron Man stopped. Hovering just outside the window was a woman in a silver costume, held aloft through a massive tornado, her white hair whipping in the breeze and glowing eyes. "I said, cease!" She commanded and fired another bolt of lightning to make her point. 

 "Hold, Villain!" Bellowed Thor's voice. "For Asgard!" 

 "Thor, no!" Iron man called out. 

 With a crack of thunder, Mjolnir hurtled in, striking the silver woman in the back and throwing her forward into the room. 

 "Damnnation!" Cardiac snarled and shoved Iron Man backwards, before leaping onto his hovering disc and flying out the window. 

 "That's the bad guy, Thor!" Iron Man yelled, firing his repulsor beams. "On the disc! On the disc!" 

 Thor's bellow of rage faded as he took off in pursuit. 

 "Ugh." Darkhawk picked himself up off the floor, his wounds gone. "Did we get 'im?"

 Iron Man raised his visor. "Nope. And also, the 'I saved the guy from falling and put him on a roof' line? Seriously, Igor? That's so Saturday Morning."

 Darkhawk stared at him. "Hell."

 Iron Man looked around the room. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a 90's Marvel kid, so yes, Darkhawk.


	8. Breathing Room and Jackals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Cardiac's attack, its time for a breather, but where's the fun in that? Thusly, there's murder, police, a few new characters and other things that happen.

* * *

George Stacy stood in the middle of the room and studied death. It was on the walls, on the floor, and strewn around the loft apartment in the form of the body parts and fluids that had once been New York's youngest gallery owner. 

"You sure, Ellis?" he asked. Although Ellis Hawthrone was the closest thing to Sherlock Holmes Stacy had ever met in his life, he still felt compelled to ask. 

"Yeah. The only thing that could do this is the Hulk, but this ain't the Hulk's M.O." Hawthorne huffed. "This is some putz tryin' to frame 'im and you can quote me on that." 

Stacey glanced down at his phone as it buzzed. "Unfortunately, Ellis, the DA doesn't agree with you."

"The DA is a putz."

"Can I quote you on that as well?"

"You can quote me selling my soul to the devil as long as I get a smoke in the next two minutes." 

"Good to know you have your priorities in order, Ellis." 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Tony was still fuming as they gathered in the infirmary. Not only had the living room been trashed, again, but now the tower was crawling with cops, feds and Shield agents. 

Worse still, if Coulson was right, the second in command of a paramilitary pro-mutant group who had risked exposure to help him was also in the infirmary, possibly with a broken back,  thanks to Thor, who had failed to capture Cardiac and was now moping in the hallway. Not to mention, that if you wanted to, it could be said that they were also holding the head of said group. Frankly, Tony couldn't see how this could get worse. 

"This is worse than you realize, Stark," Coulson told him, sitting down in an adjacent chair. 

"Why can't something stay at a realizable level of worse?" Tony asked. "I mean, once you hit the realizable mark, that should be it. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred."

Coulson gave him a level look. "After a mission, Rogers goes to the museum to sketch, Thor goes to visit Foster, who in this case was in Florida, Barton goes to a bar, and Romanov does yoga. You store your suit then come up to the main room to have a drink or five before closing yourself in the workshop or lab until dinner. This has been established for the past nine months since the Avengers were formally organized."

A drink sounded really good, actually. "Okay, so? We have a routine."

"Exactly, Stark. Routine. He knows  your routines. He's been watching the tower. Watching the Avengers. That attack was carefully planned and timed. If it hadn't been for Powell, you would already have been dead by the time Morse, Romanov, and I arrived."

Now Tony really wanted a drink. "Wait. He would need cameras, recording devices. Every single window on this place has an electrostatic charge to keep dirt  off and scrambles the sensor of any camera pointed at it. He''d get nothing but static."

"You're forgetting, Stark. Film cameras don't have sensors."

"Film?" Tony asked. "He got around the tower's defenses using film? That's . . . insulting."

The infirmary door opened and a redheaded woman in a lab coat stepped through. Behind her came a man in scrubs pushing a cart. 

"Ah, Doctor Fraser," Coulson rose. "Avengers, this is Cassandra Fraser, your Chief Medical Officer."

Fraser waved a hand, her eyes sweeping over the Avengers before settling on Peter, who had scraped his arm, and Romanov, who had a concussion. "Sykes," she said, she said, pulling a clipboard from the cart, "treat the kid." Her voice carried the faintest trace of an accent Tony couldn't place and he blinked as he realized she was very young.  No more than twenty-five maybe.

"So where did Fury find you?" Tony asked. "High school? Science Lab? Alien planet?"

"John Hopkins," Fraser retorted as she examined Romanov's scalp. 

"Yeah, but you're what? Twenty? Twenty-Five? Or are you forty and just look young?"

"Stark," Rogers sighed, but Tony had the bit in his teeth now.

“Seriously," Tony  continued. "You're just a kid yourself. Or are you from Asgard where they look young but they're all fifteen thousand years old?"

"Stark, she's CMO," Coulson warned. "She can ground you from missions."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Tony replied.

"No, Coulson," Fraser sighed and rolled her eyes skyward. "It's fine. He would have figured out the truth sooner or later." She locked eyes with Tony. "Okay, Stark, you got me;  I'm an alien. I was born on another planet and when I was a little girl, I came to earth through a magic door . . ." she trailed off and gave him a look that said he was dumbest thing on earth. "Get real, Stark. I'm an Air Force brat who pulled a Doogie Howser and has a high tolerance for weirdness and my mother’s lack of tolerance for bullshit.”

Tony burst out laughing. "You know what, Doc? I like you. You're okay."

"Good. Now I can sleep at night." She shook her head and resumed tending to Romanov.

_____________________

"Tell it again." Tony put his elbows on the work bench, a hand on each cheek and gave Chris a look like he was a teenage girl who wanted to hear all about her best friend's date.

"Tony, he's told it three times. If you still don't understand it . . ." Bruce passed a scanner wand over the amulet and shook his head at the readout. "Fascinating."

"But it's a good story!" Tony protested. "The dashing hero, a mysterious mystery man, and revenge!"

Chris rolled his eyes skyward and glanced at Bruce, the question clear on his face. 

"Unfortunately, yes," Bruce responded. “Frighteningly, you get used to it." He set the wand down. "This wasn't made by a human, and it’s definitely not Chitauri. I suppose it could have already been on Earth when they invaded, but either way, what it was doing in an old carnival is beyond me. "

"Waiting for a chosen one, obviously," Tony cracked. "Clearly your hobo friend is your mentor type, placing it for you to find."

"He's not my friend," Chris retorted. "If he was, I'm pretty sure he would have said more than 'Power's gotta be used, not abused, by a Darkhawk.'"

"That's my favorite part," Tony raised his hands, wiggled his fingers as though telling a story around the campfire. "'Power's gotta be used, not abused, by a Darkhawk'," he intoned. "Just the right amount of cryptic. I love it."

"Hm, well it's obvious he knows more about it," Coulson replied, making a note on his computer. "Logic dictates he should still be in the area."

"Yeah," Chris nodded, "and like I said, I've looked. Nada."

"There's also the 'a Darkhawk' part. That implies that there's more than one." Coulson made another note. "Yet you've never met another one?"

"Haven't even . . . no . . . wait a minute . . ." Chris frowned. "A few years ago, my roommate convinced me to go to Maine on a seafood binge for summer break. Turns out he just wanted to get with some girl he met on the internet, so I had a rental car and some free time. Anyways, up near Canada, I ran into this guy calling himself Portal. He had bits of what looked like my Darkhawk suit, with a hole in the chest where the amulet would be. We fought, and then wound up teaming up against some dinosaur thing before he opened a hole in the air and went through. Never saw him after that."

"Ah yes, the Caribou incident," Coulson typed rapidly. 

"There's a Caribou, Maine?" Tony asked. "Seriously, Jarvis?"

"Seriously, Sir." Jarvis replied. "Ah, Sir, Captain Stacey and Detective Hawthorne have just entered the lobby accompanied by a number of police officers in full tactical gear. He says he has an arrest warrant."

"Arrest? I haven't done anything illegal." Tony frowned. "Have I?"

"The warrant, Sir, is for the Hulk."

\---------------------------------

Ororo Munro opened her eyes to see a hospital ceiling. She felt that peculiar mixture of ache and numbness that was the result of heavy painkillers. Not for the first time, she wished she was less familiar with that feeling. 

"Hello, Ororo," Professor Xavier said from next to her.

"Charles? What happened?"

"We are in the infirmary at Stark Tower. Do you remember going to investigate the attack?"

"Yes, but then . . ."

Xavier nodded. "You were struck in the back by Thor's hammer. Had it not been for the winds keeping you aloft, It is likely you would have been killed. As it is, you have been severely injured."

Ororo's eyes involuntarily dropped to the Professor's chair, feeling a chill run through her veins. "How severely?"

"Broken ribs and severe muscular bruising to the back, cuts on your hands and face in the front. Doctor Fraser believes you will make a full recovery, but for now, at least, you are to stay in bed and she does not want you to move for fear of aggravating your injuries." _She genuinely has your best interests at heart, Ororo. I cannot speak for Shield as a whole, but Doctor Fraser's motives are purely medical,_ he added telepathically. "Having examined your x-rays, I'm inclined to agree. I've asked Hank to come and consult, however, and he is bringing some extra help."

Ororo smiled. "Thank you, Charles. That would be . . . nice."

Xavier nodded. "There is one other thing." He rolled to the door and opened it, revealing the largest man Ororo had ever seen. "Please be brief, Lord Thor. She needs her rest." 

"Of course," the man nodded and stood aside to let Xavier roll out before entering the room. 

"I . . ." he looked at her helplessly, reminding her of a puppy who knew it had misbehaved, but wasn't quite sure what to do next. "I apologize, Lady Ororo. I attacked without thought like a fool. I give you my word, I will do whatever is needed to see you well again."

"You do not need to apologize, Lord Thor," Ororo told him with a smile. "But I would ask a boon of you."

"Of course. Anything."

"I have never met another who could manipulate the weather. in time, when I can leave this bed, I would like to talk with you about it." 

"I too, have never met another with power over Midgard's weather," Thor nodded. "When you have had your rest, I will come and we shall speak of the weather." He rose and then cocked his head, listening to something. "The Man of Iron has summoned all Avengers. I must go. By your leave?"

"Of course." 

Thor smiled at her and bolted from the room. 

Closing her eyes, Ororo tried to sleep. Logan would be here soon, and she would need all the strength she could muster.

\------------------------------------------------

"Just remember, Stark," Coulson muttered in his ear as they entered the living room, "we knew this would happen eventually. Don't antagonize them."

"Yeah, but we were expecting Ross and his goons." Tony muttered back.

"Just stick to the plan, Stark," Coulson reminded him. "Stick to the plan."

"Would either one of you like to tell _me_ what this plan is?" Bruce asked, an edge of irritation in his voice as Rogers joined them.

"Explain later, Bruce, no time," Tony flashed him a smile. "Just keep calm when they put the cuffs on you."

"Oh yeah, sure. Nothing easier." Bruce muttered and then jerked as he felt a jabbing pain in his side followed by the lassitude of the tranquilizer Tony and Shield - mostly Shield, Tony was crap at chemistry - had concocted to put the Hulk down if needed.

"Seven percent," Barton whispered in his ear. "Just enough to take the edge off."

"Thanks." Bruce said, already feeling relaxed and calm, if a bit fuzzy headed.

"Yeah. Just remember, all you gotta do is keep calm and wait for the lawyer." 

Bruce gave him a side eye. "They told you this plan?"

"No, but I figure you could use the calm down and if its the cops, then there's a lawyer. Probably."

"Very logical, Barton," Bruce complimented him with heavy sarcasm. 

"Thanks."

Tony hissed at them to be quiet as Thor entered the room and there was a whispered conversation as Rogers filled Thor in and then the quiet rumble of Thor's temper.

The elevator doors opened and Stacey and Hawthorne entered, flanked by cops in tactical gear with their visors up and pistols holstered. Stacey clearly at leased wanted to try peace first. 

"Hey, George, what's this about a warrant?" Tony asked. 

"Mr. Stark, I have a warrant for the arrest of the Hulk for the murder of Ms Abagail St Leoan."

"The gallery owner?"

"Yeah," Hawthorne answered. "Something big and strong trashed her apartment, and took her apart like a starving wolf on a chicken."

"Nay!" Thor pushed his way forward. "The Hulk is a valued ally, a true hero! He would never do such a vile deed."

"Well everything points to him, Blondie," Hawthorne said, "so unless you're copping to it, you might want to keep your yap shut."

Stacey and Rogers moved between the two men. 

"Thor, easy. He's just trying to get a rise out of you." Rogers put his hand on Thor's chest and gently pushed him back. 

"He dares call himself a guardian of this city?" Thor snarled. 

"Yeah, I do." Hawthorne’s bulldog like face was set, a pugnacious curl to his lip.

"That's enough Ellis," Stacey snapped. "Lord Thor, on behalf of the NYPD, I apologize for Sergeant Hawthorne's remarks." He gave the man a sharp look, and Hawthorne stepped back, scowling. 

"May I see the warrant?" Coulson asked smoothly, stepping forward. Stacey handed it over, and Coulson spent several moments studying it. "When did the murder take place?"

"Night before last," Stacey answered. 

Coulson studied the warrant. "Jarvis, where was Doctor Banner during that time period?"

"Accessing . . ." Jarvis replied. "Security logs show Doctor Banner logged out of his Stark Industries workstation at Nineteen Fifty Hours. Mansion security shows him arriving by elevator to the mansion at Nineteen Fifty-Seven. He and Mr. Stark then entered Mr. Stark's workshop where they ate dinner and worked on personal projects until Doctor Banner logged out at Twenty-Two Forty-Three. Mansion security shows him entering his room at Twenty-Two Fifty-One. House intranet indicates he accessed the mansion DVR for both the Daily Show and the Colbert Report before power usage logs show that lights went out at Twenty-Three Fifty-Two, presumably when he went to bed. No further activity is logged until Oh Five Thirty-Six when the Avengers were convened for their most recent mission."

"And there was no sign of activity from the Hulk?"

"No, Agent Coulson. As of late, the Hulk has been largely in a dormant state except for missions."

Bruce wasn't sure if he should be relieved or horrified that Jarvis kept such a close eye on him. But then, given the Other Guy, that was probably for the best. On the other hand, he was starting to have a pretty good idea of the plan that Tony and Coulson had cooked up. 'Keep calm and let them cuff you,' he reminded himself. "Ah, I guess I should explain," Bruce said, stepping forward. "I'm responsible for the Hulk. His caretaker, for lack of a better term. If he's hurt someone . . . it's . . . ah . . . my fault, I guess." Out of the corner of his eye, he got Tony's almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, he held out his hands. "If you're going to arrest someone, I guess it should be me."

Stacey gave him a hard look and then took the warrant back from Coulson, who moved off and made a phone call. "In that case, Doctor Banner, I would like to ask you to come with us to the station for a formal interview."

Again, Tony's almost imperceptible nod and Bruce managed a smilie. As much as he trusted Tony, if the Other Guy came out during any of this, it was Tony's fault. "All right, let me get my coat."

\------------------------------------

Nor sooner had the elevator doors closed than Tony found himself surrounded by several angry Avengers.

"Plan, Stark," Rogers demanded. "What kind of plan involves Bruce getting arrested?"

Tony held up his hands. "Whoa, guys. Easy. We're sort of . . . improvising."

"Improvising?" Rogers asked. His muscles bunched under his shirt. "Sort of?"

"Indeed, Man of Iron," Thor added. "I demand an explanation."

"When the Avengers formally came together, Stark and I discussed security arrangements," Coulson said, closing his phone. "Top of the list was the Hulk, and more particularly, General Thaddeus Ross. With the Hulk in one place, and Stark on the list of his least favorite people, it was only a matter of time before he tried something to capture the Hulk."

"Wait," Rogers frowned. "I thought the Hulkbuster unit had been dismantled."

"You're welcome for that, by the way," Tony added.

"Romanov helped," Coulson added, "but yes. Unit members were assigned to various bases around the world, with the idea that if Ross wanted to move on Banner, we would have some warning when he started pulling in members of the unit."

"Which would also give us time to convince Bruce of said plan," Tony added. "Because you know how he is about the Big Guy."

"I have yet to hear this plan, Stark," Thor growled.

"Banner's watch contains a trackable magnetic device," Coulson explained, "the original plan was to  let the Army take Banner, after an appropriate show of resistance, follow him to whatever secret base he'd set up and then go from there. However, since the police came for him, we had to adapt." Coulson smiled. "It's up to his lawyer now."

"His lawyer?" Rogers stared at Coulson like he'd lost his mind. "What does a lawyer have to do with it? What if Ross tries something? What if Bruce changes? If something happens --"

"Don't worry about it, Sir," Coulson said with a smile, "this particular lawyer was carefully selected for her, shall we say, special gifts."

\--------------------------------------

Stacey and Hawthorne had just reached the interview room with Banner when they heard the rapid click of heels  on tile. Turning, they saw a woman in a simple dark grey suit striding towards them. She was short and thin, her brown hair was chin length and there was a look in her eye that screamed "lawyer." Stacey nodded. He thought Stark had let them go a little too easy.

Banner made a strangled noise in his throat. "Jen?"

"Captain Stacey," she said, handing him a card, "My name is Jennifer Walters of the firm of Murdock and Nelson. I have been retained as Doctor Banner's legal counsel."

"This is a simple interview, Ms Walters," told her, his mind turning over rapidly. "Doctor Banner is not accused of any crime." Absently, he noted that she bore a certain family resemblance to Banner, which probably explained Banner's reaction. He filed that away in the back of his mind.

"And let's hope it stays that way, Captain." 

"Naturally," Stacey replied, and indicated the door. "Sergeant Hawthorne will be conducting the interview."

Turning, he walked down the hall and when he heard the door close, he doubled back and entered the observation room just in time for the interview to begin. What followed was the most fascinating duel between a cop and a lawyer that Stacey had ever seen in his entire career. 

Ellis played his part perfectly, coming across as the cop trying to be smarter and tougher than he actually was but still giving away everything as Walters probed and attacked with consummate skill, ripping apart his suppositions, and prying information from him like a precious gem in a mine. She even got one or two nuggets that they hadn't intended to give away, but that happened. For his part, Ellis hammered back valiantly, and Banner answered all questions put to him with a slightly baffled expression.

"George, what the hell is this, who the hell is that and where the hell is the Hulk?" Bill Cambridge was Stacey's boss. 

"That is Doctor Bruce Banner, the Hulk's caretaker. The lawyer is one Jennifer Walters, and as for the Hulk, well, we're not concerned with that right now."

"Not concerned -- George, the Hulk killed someone!"

"Did he?" 

Cambridge blinked at him and then his eyes narrowed. Cambridge wasn't the smartest of cops, but he was smart enough to know that and he generally trusted Stacey to his job. "Is that something we can take to the DA or . . .?"

"Malley has chosen to err on the side of  caution and go with the clearest explanation."

Cambridge crossed his arms. "Convince me, then."

Stacey made his pitch, citing Hawthrone's record and the Hulk's known psychological profile. 

"You're basing an awful lot on Hawthorne's word here, George."

"Bill, in all the years I've known him, Ellis Hawthorne has only been wrong once; I didn't like that restaurant. If he says someone is trying to frame the Hulk, then I'm going to listen to the man."

"Which still doesn't explain why he's flubbing the interview like a rookie."

George smiled. "That's deliberate. Banner needs enough information to take back to the Avengers so they can hunt down the real killer." Stacey spread his hands. "I don't like it, Bill, but the NYPD is not equipped to handle super humans. Or mutants. Or another alien attack. The Avengers are."

Cambridge gave him a look. "George, about that."

\---------------------------------------------

 Sam Wilson enjoyed his work. He'd graduated early with a master's on the G.I. Bill, done his stint in the Marines, and then got tapped for the CIA, where he'd saved the world with some fast thinking and faster talking before finally joining Social Services, first in Hawaii (and he needed to put in for time off so he could fly back for David and Nani's wedding) and now in New York.  It wasn't easy, but Sam had picked up a few tricks along the way, and without those, he'd be much closer to being burnt out. As it was, he was due for a vacation.

Today, however, was shaping up to be a bad day. Upon returning to his office from Stark Tower and checking up on Parker and Green, he'd found a message from his boss, and that was never good. Andrew Sparks was a time server and problem avoider who'd reached his position by sheer seniority and was still a few years away from retirement. Usually, Sam worked around him, including running the office, but every so often, Sparks worked up the nerve to remember that technically, he was in charge, they would have a staring contest, Sam would win, and they would go back to ignoring each other. 

But it was too early for their next staring contest, so Sam had taken the time to put on the really good suit and the italian shoes in his office before walking down the hall to Sparks' office. 

"Ah, Sam . . . yes, there you are." A fine sheen of sweat showed on Sparks' face, and he was not alone. The balding man in the visitor's chair was lean and hawk faced and a senator, which explained a lot because he was senator Chuck Benton, who was virulently opposed to Superheroes in general, the Avengers in particular, and Tony Stark most of all. After the Chitauri attack, Benton had gone on tv saying that the invasion was the Avengers fault and that they should be responsible for the destruction it caused, even though it had come close to costing him in the next election. "This is Senator Benton, and he ah . . . he dropped by for a chat."

Several pieces clicked into place, along with a mental note to find out who had leaked Parker and Green to the Senator's office and strangle them. "Senator," Sam said, smiling and holding out his hand for a shake, "what can Social Services do for you?"

Benton's hand barely fit around Sam's larger one, but he didn't try to squeeze or any kind of intimidation tactic. "Mr. Wilson, you're the caseworker for one Peter Parker and Doreen Green, both of whom you've placed with Tony Stark, and, you realize, in considerable danger as proven today." Of course, when you were that sure of yourself _and_ full of shit, you didn't need to.

Sam kept his smile on. "I am, Senator, and their files are red sealed." Which was a polite reminder that Benton shouldn't even know Peter and Doreen's name, much less where they'd been placed or who had placed them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sparks' face get shiner and repressed the urge to swear. At least now he knew who to strangle. "Frankly, Senator, they're as safe as they can be. The attack today was directed at Stark personally, and the household security footage shows that Stark's first action was to order them both to safety."

"Maybe I'm not being clear enough, Wilson." Benton drew himself up straight, his head barely reaching Sam's chin. "You are to remove Parker and Green from Stark Tower immediately."

"On what specific grounds, Senator?" Sam’s smile dropped. "Stark is a captain of Industry, and in that alone, he has enemies, never mind Iron Man and the Avengers. Of course, Norman Osborn is also a captain of industry. Will you be wanting his son removed as well? What about Albert Roxxon? I believe his son is underage, will he also be removed? You recall that Osborn hosted a five hundred dollar per plate twelve  hundred person fundraiser dinner for you at the last election, a dinner at which Roxxon was a V.I.P." Sam let that hang in the air. "Respectfully, Senator, please do not use the children in my care as motivational tools."

Benton's mouth opened, shut, opened, and then shut again. Then he glared. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have another appointment. Good day." With that, he stormed out.

Sam watched him go and then turned back to Sparks, staring at the older man through half-lidded eyes and a snake-like smile. "Andrew, we should probably do a security audit of the office. Benton should not have had access to red sealed files without a warrant, at least. Someone here leaked the information."

"Ah . . ." Sparks swallowed. "That is to say, I don't think an audit would do much good. The informant, ah, that is, the informant . . . ah . . . probably erased their tracks. Yes. Erased their tracks completely."

"Mmm. Probably. But I think I'll do one anyway, just to be safe. Certainly can't hurt to keep everyone on their toes, right?"

"Oh-oh yes. Of course. But ah, we really don't have t-time for that. N-not right now."

"You might be right," Sam agreed. "But this leak does need to be reported to the State office at the very least. I'll just go write the report up."

"Ah . . . th-that won't be necessary, Sam, I'll do it. You should . . . lunch! Get some of the petty cash and see about a lunch run for the office."

“Sure, Andrew, thanks.”

As Sam left the office, he could hear Sparks frantically typing. He probably should have mentioned that any attempts to change access logs, especially on a red sealed file would send up flags at the State Office, but he was getting tired of the man. Let him dig his own damn grave. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Doreen tilted her head back and stared. M3 rose up a good ten or twelve floors. "Wow." 

"I know, right?" Mary Jane said from beside her. "After my first week here, I gave up using mom's exercise bike."

"Heads up, guys," Harry whispered. 

"Crap," Peter muttered. 

Doreen blinked in confusion as Mary Jane pushed Gwen back and then pulled Doreen to stand next to her, the two of them forming a wall and putting Gwen between them and a car parked at the curb. 

"Ah, Parker," Two men had just left the school. One of them was more leonine, broad and face in body, the other lean, whippet thin, but she couldn't figure out what animal he reminded her of. Both bore impressive mustaches. It was the leonine one who had spoken. "I heard about your Aunt and Uncle and I'm dreadfully sorry. It's never easy to lose anyone you're close too."

"Ah, thank you, sir," Peter said. "I . . . I'm just going one day at a time?"

"The wisest course. Ah, and I see you've added someone else to your merry band." 

“Eh? Oh! Doreen, this is Professor Warren, our science teacher. Professor, this is Doreen, my . . . er, we're still uh . . ."

"They were placed with the same family," Harry volunteered. "We're introducing her to New York."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Doreen nodded, only shaking Professor Warren’s hand when he offered his, first.

"Please, call me Professor Ray," the man said. "And this," he indicated the leaner man, "is my brother Miles, he's teaching an advanced course here at M3 for the second year in a row." Doreen heard Gwen whimper, a low sound of pure dread.

"Charmed." Miles Warren's voice was very level, tightly controlled. He did not offer his hand. "Are you a science major, Miss?"

"No, Sir," Doreen said, trying very hard not run or attack because Miles Warren gave her the willies something fierce. As it was, her tail was standing straight up and all the hair was on end. "Cookin' an I know a bit about engines an' pumps an' the like."

"Engines, eh?" Professor Ray asked, "perhaps you should take Hobie Brown's class. He teaches Auto Shop and there's a fair bit of mechanical engineering in there as well. Might want to see if that appeals to you."

"I'll . . . I'll think about it, sir," Doreen said, heart in her throat, and curled her fingers into her palms, because she could feel her claws coming out.

"Good, and I hope to see you in some of my classes as well. You can never know too much about all forms of science, eh, Miles?"

"So you say, Raymond," Professor Miles replied. "And you, Miss Stacy?" Doreen felt everyone tense up even further. "Will you be taking classes with Raymond or myself?"

"Pr-programming," Gwen replied, peeking between Mary Jane and Doreen.

"Pity," Miles said, "I did enjoy our discussions." He smiled and it looked out of place on his face.

"Ah, look at the time," Raymond said. "Miles, we were only given an hour for lunch, you know."

"I remember the schedule, Raymond."

The two men nodded at them and continued along the sidewalk.

Doreen repressed a full body shiver as she finally realized that Professor Miles hadn't taken his eyes off Gwen, not even when speaking to his brother, like . . . like a wolf on the hunt . . . no, not a wolf. He was more like a . . . like a Jackal. Jackals, she remembered a nature show saying, were predators and scavengers, feeding on birds, reptiles, and small mammals.

Like squirrels.

\--------------------------------------

The big harley stopped a hairsbreadth from the front doors of Stark Tower, the rider letting it fall where it stood as he stormed inside.

"Whatever level the hospital is in this place," he growled at the front desk. " _Now_."

\---------------------------------------

Even when on pain medication, Ororo was a light sleeper, so she heard the heavy boots clumping down the hall long before the door opened, revealing five foot three of angry lover. 

"Logan," she said with a smile and lifted her left arm. He was at her side immediately holding her hand to his face and for a moment, they stayed like that before Logan lowered her hand, eyes blazing. "Who did this, Darlin'?" he rasped out. "I'll gut 'em."

"You are not gutting anyone, Logan," Ororo ordered. "He and I have already spoken on the matter and have settled it."

"But he hurt you."

"It has been settled, Logan," Ororo repeated in a voice like steel. "And even if it was not, I am more than capable of settling my own matters of honor and you know it." Logan tensed up and then all his anger left him like a deflated balloon and he sank into a rolling chair. "I will make a full recovery, Logan, do not be concerned."

"Sorry, Darlin', that aint who I am. I can't."

Ororo smiled and curled her fingers around his. "As it should be." Then she looked towards the door. 

“What?” Logan asked, following her gaze.

“The professor said you were coming down with Henry. He should have entered by now.”

“Ah,” Logan began and the note of uncertainty in his voice had Ororo’s eyes on him in moments. “I . .  . ah .  .   . came ahead.”

“Logan! You didn’t!” She let go of his hand and pressed her hand to her face.

“I was worried!”

“That doesn’t—“ She sighed and looked around for the call button, or a phone. “How does one make a phone call or get some help?”

“Good afternoon, Ms Munro,” came a deep voice as far as Ororo could tell, it seemed to come from everywhere, yet she saw no speakers. “I am Jarvis. Do you require assistance?” 

“Ah, I believe that here is a large red harley parked somewhere near the front doors.”

“Indeed. I have already instructed lobby personnel to bring it inside. It appears to be undamaged, despite being dropped onto the pavement upon arrival.” 

“Good.” Ororo breathed a sigh of relief. “I would like to make a phone call. Is there a phone I could use?”

“Phone lines are integrated into the infirmary’s monitoring system. What number would you like to call?”

Ororo recited Hank’s number from memory and the phone rang once. 

“Felicitous Greetings.”

“Hello, Henry.”

“Ororo! How — Jubilee! Truck!” 

“Hank? Are you letting Jubilee drive?” Logan asked. 

“I felt that it would be excellent practice as her test is coming up and the highway —oh my stars and garters!” Over the phone line came the sound of horns and a girl’s voice apologizing. “Ah, Logan, I should tell you—“

“Logan!” yelled a man in the background. There was the sound of a phone being torn out of someone’s hand. “Logan! You . . . this is the last straw, Logan.”

“Hiya, Scott,” Logan smirked.

“Last time, Logan. I have had it with you taking my bike. If the paint is so much as scratched,  I will . . . will . . .”

“Aw, whatsamatter, Scotty,” Logan sneered, “can’t even think up a good threat?”

Ororo looked over as a red-haired woman entered the room and stopped.

“I’m past threats, Logan,” Scott snarled. “If there is so much as a scratch on that bike, I will have Jean turn you into Elsie Dee again. Permanently. And then, Logan, and then I will take pictures and video and I will send them to everyone you have ever so much as looked at.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Logan, I said _everyone_. I will send them to Magneto, to Alpha Flight, to Omega Red, and Logan, _I will send them to Wade_.” Ororo had seen Logan angry, happy, horrified, in pain, and many other moods. This, however, was the first time she’d seen him turn white with fear. “Not one scratch, Logan.”

There was the sound of a phone being passed back. 

“Ah, we shall be there in twenty minutes,” Hank sounded as shaken as Ororo felt, “assuming favorable traffic. Until then.”

“Of course, goodbye, Henry.”

“Ah . .. ex . . . excuse me, Darlin,” Logan said, rising and then bolting from the room.

“Should I ask?” the woman asked.

Ororo thought for a moment. “Suffice it to say, there are people in the world who will never let you live anything down. Ever.”

“Sounds like my uncle,” the woman murmured, moving forward and checking Ororo’s chart.

“Yes, but he would presumably get bored over time. Wade . . . would not.” 

The woman made a noise in her throat before setting down the chart. “I’m Cassandra Fraser, Avengers CMO and you, are very, very lucky. Your ribs could have been shattered. As it is, they’ve been broken before, from the looks of things.”

“I . . . have received advanced hand to hand combat training,” Ororo said, “and have been forced to use it.” She managed a smile. “Not everyone likes lawyers, you know.”

That got a chuckle. “Good, keep that sense of humor.” Fraser walked around the bed and pulled up the chair Logan had been using. “So here’s the deal; Bare minimum, you’re gonna be here a while. While you’re in better shape some soldiers that I’ve seen, and that helped, the long and short of it is, there’s a chance you may not ever get back to 100%. Broken ribs are nothing to sneeze at and there may be damage to your organs or spine that haven’t manifested yet.”

“I appreciate your directness, Doctor.”

“I learned from my mother,” Fraser replied. “It was the only way she could keep some of her patients in bed long enough for them to actually recover.”

“Ah, Doctor, you should know. I do not do well in enclosed spaces. Even large rooms.”

“Claustrophobic?”

“Yes.” Which was an understatement. “Activity helps, but over the long term . . .”

Fraser nodded and got up to jot a note on the chart. “Thanks for telling me. Physical recovery is a lot more mental than most people want to admit.” She scribbled on the chart some more. “This is New York, so open spaces and fresh air are kind of an oxymoron, but I don’t see any reason why you can’t go out onto a terrace or balcony in a wheelchair at least.” She pointed the pencil at Ororo. “But, that’s contingent on your recovery. If you feel something is off, you tell me. If I feel something is wrong or I find that something is wrong and you knew and didn’t tell me, or if you backslide, back into the bed you go. My judgement is final. Deal?”

Ororo nodded. “Yes, and thank you.”

————————————————

Tony sighed and looked down at the estimate in his hand. Although the damage from Cardiac’s attack was largely cosmetic, the building’s comm system was going to have to be shielded from Beta Particle energy and he was going to have to come up with a way to make the windows proof against film cameras. Not to mention, replacing the destroyed furniture was gonna cost.

“Maybe we should just start buying Ikea,” he said. Pepper raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“The new furniture. Make it Ikea. Swiss watches, Swiss furniture, Swiss knives, Swiss cheese, Swiss stuff is good.”

“Ikea is Swedish, Tony,” Pepper told him gently. “Sweden and Switzerland are different countries. and no, the fact that they both start with ’s w’ does not make it close enough to count.”

There was the recorded sound of someone clearing their throat. “Ah, excuse me, Sir, Ma’am. Mister Parker and Ms Green have returned early and there appears to be some . . .  contention.”

“What?” Tony asked. 

“They are arguing, Sir. Loudly.”

The elevator opened and Peter and Doreen exited, where it was immediately apparent that Jarvis was practicing understatement.

“We promised!” Peter yelled. Neither of them had apparently noticed Tony and Pepper standing there as they both immediately headed for the hallway. “Gwen wants to handle it herself!”

“Yer a damn fool, then!” Doreen shouted back, her accent thick. “Mah Daddy always said that—“

“To hell with your ‘Daddy’” Peter exploded, spinning on his feet and getting into Doreen’s face. “Your daddy this, your daddy that! Your daddy can go suck it and die! Oh wait! He did!”

Doreen actually turned beet red and then shoved past Peter, sending him staggering back several steps, and bolted down the hallway, Peter on her heels. Moments later, they heard the sound of doors slamming.

Tony and Pepper looked at each other, then at the hallway.

“Jarvis?” Tony asked. 

“I’m afraid the details are . . . unclear, Sir.” Jarvis replied. “The argument was in progress when they entered the building, but it appears the children encountered someone who has upset Ms Stacey at least once before. Mr, Parker, Mr. Osborn and Ms Watson have all agreed not to speak of the matter outside of their social circle to anyone, and especially not to Captain Stacey above all else. Ms Green objects to this tactic and feels that some form of authority figure should at least be consulted on the matter.”

“Well,” Tony mused, “their first fight.” He looked at Pepper. “I’ll take Peter, you take Doreen?”

“Sir, it may be best to at least grant them a cooling off period and let them work this out between them,” Jarvis advised. “Although if the contention continues past the twenty-four hour mark, then some form of intervention may be required.” 

“Makes sense,” Pepper noted. “Growing up, we had a forty-eight hour time limit on arguments. If we didn’t settle it before time was up, Dad settled it for us and his solutions pretty much involved either more chores or work at Aunt Ruby’s farm. Trust me, you only need to clean out the stall of a diarrhetic bull _once_ before getting along and compromising sounds like a real good idea.”

Tony winced. “I can imagine. Well, I can’t, but the mental image. No.”

Pepper laughed and gently bumped Tony with her shoulder before taking out her phone and opening the texting function. _Peter and Doreen; You have 48 hours as of now to settle your argument or Tony and I will settle it for you_. She tapped the send button and put the phone away. 

“You think that’ll work?” Tony asked.

Pepper shrugged. “If not, Aunt Ruby is getting on in years and could always use some help.”

————————————————

Bruce was very grateful for the sedative in his system, because without it, he probably would have flashed over to the Other Guy due to sheer shock. As it was, he stood there in stunned silence as Jen smoothly wrapped up the interview, got him out of the station and into her car before pulling smoothly out into traffic. 

Wait a minute.

“Who are you?” Bruce demanded. “Where’s Jen? Jen. I want to talk to Jen.”

She gave him a side eye. “What? Oh.” She laughed. “Things are different now, Cuz. It’s one girl in all the world now.”

Bruce stared. “That’s . . . that’s not possible.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s different for me. Maybe there was no separation to begin with. Could be it was all in my head.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You weren’t exactly keeping in touch there,” she pointed out. “I didn’t even know you were in New York until today.”

Bruce took off his glasses and scrubbed his face with his hands. Jen was right. He’d gotten so used to being under the radar and keeping his distance that he “Wait. Why are you in New York?”

“Because I’m living and loving life in the Big Apple,” Jen replied with a throaty laugh and a smile Bruce had never seen on her face before. It was beautiful. “I do criminal defense now.” She sighed. “Look, Bruce. Before we go back to Stark’s, how about I find a coffee shop and we talk, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

————————————————-

“Poledra’s Test” was a sculpture twelve feet tall, two feet in diameter and according to the plaque, purported to depict a stick with only one end. 

While Steve wasn’t sure about the one end part, he did know that it was great practice for form and composition and he grinned like a child at Christmas as he set out his chalk and charcoal. Opening his pad to a clean page, he selected a pice of chalk and went to work. 

 As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t lose himself in art. A lifetime of watching his back, first in the orphanage, then on the streets of Brooklyn and then on the battlefield made that impossible and the serum’s enhancing of his senses only made his awareness more keen, more sensitive. So when someone else sat down on the bench next to him, Steve automatically looked up, assessing in one single glance. 

Oh _golly_.

The woman next to him had that singular beauty of the athlete. Long torso and legs guided the eye upwards past a flat stomach and muscled limbs to a fine, strong face with a smile that, at least in part, reminded him of Peggy. He’d seen her around the museum before. Like him, she had a drawing pad in her hand and as she set down a small flat case, she smiled at him, whiskey colored eyes under a cap of light brown hair that knew he was staring. Embarrassed, he went back to his chalk and charcoal. 

Sometime later, when he’d finally captured the sculpture on paper to his satisfaction, he stood up, rolling his shoulders, feeling his muscles untense, he glanced over at the woman. She was still hard at work, rubbing a paper stump on the pad to soften shading. She was actually pretty good, with that quiet level of competence to her lines that was the mark of the serious hobbyist. It took him a moment to realize that off to the side was a sketch of himself in profile, simple, almost cartoony. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” the woman said in a voice that carried just the slightest hint of Texas drawl.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Steve replied, embarrassed all over again. 

She looked up at him, glasses now perched on her nose and a quiet smile on her face. “May I?” she asked, gesturing at the pad in his hand. 

“Oh yeah. I mean, of course. Sorry.” Steve turned his pad towards her, and she smiled. 

“Very nice. I never could get the hang of charcoal myself. Once I lay down the lines, that’s it.”

“Yeah, I’m not too fond of it either, but I try to work in it now and then to push myself.”

“And this monstrosity is good for that sort of thing, I guess.” She gestured at the sculpture. “Sometimes I think sculptors just get drunk, go to town on stone or whatever until they pass out and then call it a masterpiece.” 

Steve couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it. When I was in art school, there was this kid who couldn’t or wouldn’t work in anything but oils and all his stuff was kind of surrealist.”

She chuckled. “I can go one better. We had this guy who fancied himself as being avant garde and drew everything in negative space. He could tell you everything about the great masters of the art world and was pretty much a walking talking art wikipedia.” 

“Wow. What happened to him?” Steve asked. 

“Last time i saw him? Working at Walmart. But he’s got a blog and a tumblr and they’re both pretty popular, so . . .” She removed her glasses and shrugged.  “I was just taking art as an elective, so it was more about having fun than anything else.” She flipped her pad closed, putting the pencils away before slipping the glasses into a protective case. 

“So what do you actually do?” Steve began cleaning up his supplies. 

“I’m in acquisitions,” she replied. “Which is funny because I have a bachelor’s in chemistry. What about you?”

“Security work,” Steve replied. He ignored the slight pain of liar’s guilt. He wasn’t exactly lying, the Avengers, being Captain America, it was all about security. “Um, say, would you, I mean, if you’re not, that is  . .  .”

“Yes, I would love to get some coffee with you,” she replied with a straight face. “And possibly dinner.”

Oh, wow. I mean . . .” he cleared his throat and held out his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

Her hand was long fingered without being delicate and fit nicely in his. “Rachel Leighton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a personal note, I really, really, hate working with chalk and charcoal. Gimme pencil, pens, and ink any day. 
> 
> “Poledra’s Test” refers to the stick with only one end mentioned in the books “Polgara the Sorceress” and “The Seeress of Kell”, both by David Eddings, who in turn was one of my influences. Here’s to you, Dave. 
> 
> Yes, that was a Lilo and Stich reference. 
> 
> “One Girl in All the World” is a really awesome instrumental track and so is its companion piece “All the World in One Girl”. I highly recommend both. 
> 
> A nineties-era x-men bio noted that Storm was trained in both unarmed and knife combat as well as her being extremely claustrophobic, which I remember being a plot point in the 90’s X-men cartoon.
> 
> Elsie Dee in the comics was a robot built by one of Logan’s enemies for reasons I never bothered finding out. Or if I did, I’ve forgotten them. In this universe though, Sebastian Shaw and Emma Frost both have very strange, very twisted senses of humor leading them to at one point cause Logan to believe that he was a five year old girl. Why they had a pink and lilac outfit with accessories in Logan’s size is something you probably shouldn’t think about.
> 
> As to whether or not that’s Cassandra Fraser from Stargate SG-1 all grown up or if I’m just messing with you . . . I haven’t decided yet.


	9. Chapter 9

Pepper laid her hand on Tony’s shoulder, causing him to look up from his memories.

“So,” she said softly, “where were you?”

“Thinking about how we got here,” Tony replied. “Cardiac had just shown up.” He looked over as Peter and Doreen re-entered the kitchen, cleaning supplies in hand. “I needed the reminder.” He turned back to Pepper. “What happened to staying in bed?”

“It got boring without you there,” Pepper replied with a cat-like smile. 

“Well, as soon as Steve gets back from his run, we can have him take over and then go back to our room and see about un-boring it,” Tony replied, giving her his best leer. Pepper rolled her eyes.

“Actually, I was just about to - whoa. What happened?” Steve asked, coming up behind them.

“Thor’s birthday,” Tony replied. “Hey, do me a favor, keep an eye on the clean-up while Pepper and I get dressed?” Both Pepper and Steve raised their eyebrows at him and Tony made a face. “I mean, actually get dressed. Or at least me.” He yawned. “I’m up for the day . . . morning . . . whatever.”

“I may as well get dressed too,” Pepper admitted. “Julia and I were going to go over projections today. Maybe we can do it over breakfast and get it over with.” And she had to admit, when you looked at the kitchen, a champagne breakfast sounded pretty good.

“Excuse me, Sir, but the Continental Breakfast has arrived,” Jarvis announced, punctuated by the ding of the elevator.

“Go,” Steve said, looking up from his phone. “Rach says she wants a picture of the kitchen.” He grinned. “She also says we can make it twice as dirty with half the cleanup.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “You two . . . I don’t even want to know.”

“She’s a heck of a dame, Tony,” Steve replied. 

Tony threw up his hands as Pepper headed back to their room, and he headed for the living room to deal with the breakfast. Whatever else he could say about Rachel, Steve was happy and that counted for a lot.

Besides, all things considered, when you looked at everything that happened after Cardiac’s first attack, Rachel Leighton was one of the high points.

—————————————————  
10 months ago . . . 

Tony hated meetings. 

Especially morning meetings. Especially seven in the morning meetings called by Shield when he’d been up all night working on his suit followed by beta particle shielding and what the hell why was Rogers grinning like that it was creepy as fuck.

“Well, I met this girl,” Steve told him, a strange look on his face. Tony facepalmed. Crap. 

“No,” he told Steve, “I am not going to see a therapist. I have enough on my plate as it is. You all have to live with me verbalizing my thoughts and what girl?”

Steve nodded. “Clint told me the twins are fighting.”

“Twins?”

“Well, yeah. Peter and Doreen have the same birthday. Since they’re siblings now, Clint said that makes them twins.”

“You know that. How do you know that? How does Barton know that?”

“Well, Pepper told me. I wanted to make sure I remembered their birthdays. As for Clint, Natasha probably told him.”

“No I didn’t,” Natasha replied, walking past them. “Morning, Steve.” 

“It’s too early for this. There is in fact no way for it to not be too early for this,” Tony muttered as they took their seats in the conference room.

At the front, Coulson tapped a yardstick on the table, calling the meeting to order. “Good morning.” He clicked a remote and a still from Cardiac’s attack popped up. “Priority one, Cardiac. He has demonstrated extensive medical and engineering skills along with deep pockets, as suggested by the hospital facility. Current profile indicates a planner; He’s methodical, focused, and patient, taking the time to learn our post mission routines before he struck.” He clicked a remote and an artist’s portrait popped up. Most of the Avengers recognized Steve’s handiwork. “Priority two, Kron. Last name unknown, Kron is possibly an alias. Purported time traveler from an unknown period into the future. His weapon, some sort of portable and extremely powerful heat ray, suggests a period of seventy-five to one hundred years. He is a VT, and ruthless, as suggested by his massacre of the Navarrone family and the murder of Dino Spinelli and a high society prostitute. Kron also holds plans as to an as yet unknown hotel facility. Why he wants these plans is also unknown.”

“I’m still not buying the time travel thing,” Tony spoke up. “Just saying.”

Coulson ignored him. “Priority three. Someone is trying to frame the Hulk for the murder of Gallery Owner Abigail St. Leoan. The investigating officer’s belief is that as many as four individuals perpetrated the actual crime, but the neighbors heard nothing, and neither the damage or the act, matches the Hulk’s methods. Our examination of the evidence collected agrees with the officer’s assessment, but the New York D.A. intends to see the Hulk held responsible. Ms St. Leoan’s family is well connected, which means that they’re going to want to wrap this up fast. We’ll have to be faster.”

“Shouldn’t the Hulk thing be priority one?” Tony asked.

“Technically, this is all priority one,” Coulson replied. “The faster this is all put to bed, the faster we can worry about really serious threats. New chatter on the grapevine indicates that Madam Hydra, aka, Viper, aka Anna VonStrucker is due in New York for some sort of summit with A.I.M, The Secret Empire, and syndicate chiefs from all over the East Coast, as well as New Orleans, Miami, and Chicago. This summit will be a lot simpler if we’re taken out, which means Cardiac, Kron, and St. Leoan may be an attempt to divide and distract or conquer. Also, Stark, Jason Macendale is no longer in the prison hospital where he was recovering.”

Tony went still. “He escaped?”

“On his own? Doubtful. The man is a career thug with a eighth grade education. Someone broke him out. At this point, all we know is that the hospital was presented with transfer papers to move Macendale from General in Manhattan to St Conner’s in Freeport. St. Conner’s never received him and according to the NYPD, no order was ever issued.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tony groaned and then took out his phone to text Pepper so they could figure out what to tell Peter. Later, it would occur to him that not telling Peter hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. 

Coulson tapped the yardstick again. “Romanov, Barton. Handpick some agents and hit the streets. Do whatever it takes, but get intel on Cardiac, Kron, and whoever impersonated the Hulk. Take Rogers with you. One other thing, the Blood and Skulls gang are dead. Someone came along after you left and bludgeoned them to death. The bartender, meanwhile, was found unconscious in the closet and apparently had been there since closing the night before. The safe and register where both cleaned out and there’s evidence that the man you talked to was impersonating him. It’s likely he also was their killer. If you find out anything on that, call it in.”

“You have the CSI records?” Natasha asked.

“On your tablet,” Coulson replied. “Stark, Banner. Get with Foster and Selvig and scrub the video from Cardiac’s attack frame by frame. Anything you can find about his armor, him, or anything else, write it down. As far as Kron, this Mike person apparently can reach back in time via Mjolnir. If he can reach back, we can reach forward. Figure out how. Powell, you’re coordinating and compiling. As Romanov, Barton, Banner and Stark bring in data, I want you to make sense of it. Find patterns, anything.” Coulson turned to the last person in the room. “Lewis, start battening down hatches. Focus on the Hulk issue since the D.A. will try to light a media firestorm to force us to hand the Hulk over, but the other issues at hand should also be addressed.”

“Already on it,” Darcy replied. “What about Darkhawk?”

“Classified, if anyone asks,” Coulson replied. “Active agent subject to the same security restrictions as Black Widow and Hawkeye. As far as everyone knows, the Darkhawk armor is a prototype in test phase.”

“Whatever.” Darcy shrugged. 

“Any questions?” Coulson looked around the room. “Then dismissed.”

Steve stood to let Stark go by, and then waited by the door for Barton and Natasha. As they came over, he noticed Natasha frowning at her tablet. “What’s wrong?”

“The Skulls. These blows. There’s a lot of them, but only one actual killing blow on each man . . . he wanted to hurt them. Punish them. The killing blows are very precisely placed, so he was still in control, but the others, that’s about pain. Pain and punishment. He wanted vengeance.”

“Hm,” Barton sighed. “Maybe we should get him and Kron in the same room and let them fight it out.”

“We have to find them first,” Steve reminded him. “Come on.”

——————————————

Barton banged his head on the table. “We didn’t find jack, we didn’t find shit. Neither jack nor shit was to be found.”

Chris took a slice of pizza, a smirk on his face. “Well, there was that hobo—“ 

“We do not talk of the hobo,” Barton interrupted. “Ever. Ever. There was no hobo.” He shuddered. “Do not speak of the hobo.”

Steve looked over at Tony. “Any luck?”

“Not really, Thor got summoned back to Asgard for a god thing. As for Cardiac . . . you tell them, Bruce.” 

Bruce set his pizza down. “Remember that Cardiac built that lab for open heart surgery on himself?” Everyone nodded. “We ran the footage from Tony’s armor through spectrometer analysis. Cardiac’s armor is powered by a mini beta particle reactor implanted into his chest.” 

“What, like Tony?” Steve asked.

Bruce shook his head. “No. Based on the energy flow and heat patterns, he replaced his heart with the reactor and a medical pump.”

“Essentially,” Selvig put in, “this Cardiac fellow is quite literally, heartless. Physically, in terms of blood flow and the like, he should be fine. Psychologically . . . God knows.”

“Avengers.” Coulson entered the room. Though he always looked serious, there was usually a slight hint of amusement in his face. Not now, now he looked grim.

“Coulson?” Natasha asked. 

“We’ve found out which hotel Kron was after.” Coulson told them. “It’s the Langford on 49th. Two hundred and fifty people are dead.”

———————————————————

The Langford building boasted a concierge desk and 24/7 service to its tenants, most of whom were families. It was, in effect, a live-in hotel. Or had been. 

Steve was no stranger to death. The war against Hydra had been brutal and if the SSR hadn’t lost men on a mission, Hydra had certainly left behind more than its share of bodies. 

But this . . . Steve looked down as his booted foot stepped on something that he realized was a human hand. But just the hand. “Sorry,” he said, jerking his foot upwards and then carefully side-stepping. the appendage before continuing down the hall. What was really weird about the whole thing, was that preliminary evidence suggested that there were several killers at work. Anyone inside the units bore the signature mark of Kron’s heat gun, while the people dead in the hallways had been killed by guns, blunt force, or broken neck or other methods and some had been struck by the heat gun as well, suggesting they’d attempted to flee, only to be cut down. 

The current theory was that Kron had worked his way through each floor, killing the tenants while the other killers had patrolled the hallways, killing anyone who came up from the lobby or managed to escape the unit. The security cameras in the halls had been switched to a loop, so the security department hadn’t noticed, and the walls and floors and walls were thick, muffling any sound.

“Cap!’ Steve turned to see Barton exiting the stairwell. “You’re not gonna believe this; Nat sat down with the guard on duty for a chat and for some reason, he felt compelled to share that he’d been paid off to not notice the loop.”

“How remarkable,” Steve murmured sarcastically. “So he was in on it?” He eyed two girls by the elevator doors, both of whom lay on the ground with heads at unnatural angles, packages on the floor.

“Nah, all he had to do was ignore the loop and not raise an alarm. He thought they were just gonna rob one of the units.”

“And scrambling the whole system would make the getaway easier,” Steve finished.

“Yup. Turns out he’s been jonseing for a raise and promotion. Got neither at the last review, so when some guy sits down with him at the bar and offers him five grand to look the other way while he and some buddies rob six twelve, he figures hey, easy money.”

Steve frowned. “Six twelve? Why that name that one if all Kron wanted was to kill people?”

“Wasn’t Kron. Or if it was, he’s dyed his hair red. Guard didn’t ask his name and the guy didn’t give it.” Barton pointed. “There is a unit six twelve though. Thataway at the end.”

Steve nodded and set off in that direction. “Thanks.”

“You don’t think it was a random pick,” Barton said, joining him.

“I . . . I don’t know.” Steve sighed. “But why not, right?”

“Works for me,” Barton shrugged. “Oh, Stark took Banner back to the Tower. He was looking a bit green.”

At the door to six twelve, Barton dropped, pivoting on his knee as he drew and nocked an arrow, covering Steve as he entered, shield at the ready. Only corpses greeted them, which is what they’d been expecting, but they’d hadn’t lasted this long without being just a bit paranoid. The CSI units hadn’t done more than a preliminary survey, so the room was untouched by yellow tape and chalk outlines.

The room was, to Steve’s sense, tasteful. Brick and wood with soft blues and simple furniture. A banner wishing Rebecca a happy 18th birthday was strung over the windows, under which was the remains of an extravagant buffet. Glasses of soda lay on the floor, the partygoers having been killed where they stood.

“Jeez. Must be nice,” Barton said, studying the buffet. “Hey, Cap, would you ever want to live like this?”

“Nah,” Steve replied. “I’ve got all I need. You?”

“Quilted toilet paper.”

“What?”

“We made do with whatever was at hand in the circus and the Army bought the super cheap stuff in bulk, so . . .” Barton shrugged. 

Steve laughed despite himself and then his eyes whipped sideways as a noise from the bedrooms reached his ears. He waved his hand to catch Barton’s attention and flashed a warning signal. “I guess I can see that,” he said out loud. “Helps living with Stark and how he buys the best of everything.” He began casually moving towards the bedrooms.

“Well yeah, why do you think I signed on?” Barton replied, also moving towards the bedrooms on noiseless feet, a broad headed arrow in his hand, ready to stab or draw as needed. “It sure wasn’t for the paycheck.” 

“And here I thought we were doing this for the good of all mankind,” Steve replied, signaling for Barton to go left. 

“Well yeah, that too, but hey, good toilet paper,” Barton casually nocked his arrow. “Oh, and the beer.”

“Beer is good,” Steve agreed. His fingers counted down. 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . they burst into the room, weapons ready.

Nothing. Like the front room, the bedroom was also tastefully decorated. Dance posters hung on the wall, and an armoire lay on its side, doors open and clothes spilled onto the floor. Near the bookcase lay a man, his chest a charred, smoking ruin. 

“Hey, Cap?” Barton looked over at him. “How old would you say this person was?” Steve looked over at the body. “Not that guy, whoever’s room this is.”

Steve looked around again. “Uh, high school?”

“Yeah, a high school girl. And there were no high school girls out there. A couple in the hallway by the elevator, but not in the front room.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Rebecca.”

“Yeah.”

Steve looked around again, and his eyes fell on the corpse by the bookcase. The bookcase that had a bare wall to its left. Casually, Steve moved to the bare wall and looked down. The carpet hid it well, but he could pick out the small track set into it that led right to the bookcase. Then booth men jumped as something behind the bookcase went thud against it. 

Barton’s hands moved. _What do?_ Shield’s internal sign language wasn’t big on vocabulary. 

Steve’s mouth narrowed to a line. _You door. I shield._ Fire if fired upon.

Barton nodded and moved to the bookcase’s right while Steve moved to stand in front, positioning his shield and his body so that he was as protected as possible. 

Barton looked to him for a nod, then pressed the switch. The bookcase slid aside and something hurtled out and slammed into his shield, screaming as it did and hitting him with such force that he actually was pushed back a step. 

It was a girl, medium length brown hair with a dancer’s build, lithe like a tiger and zero thought in her eyes which were red with tears and lips pulled back in a snarl that was both grief and rage. Without pause, she wailed on the shield with her fists, screaming at him.

“Rebecca!” Steve shouted. “Rebecca!” Then Barton was there, slipping his arms under hers and then locking his hands behind her neck. Rebecca slammed her foot down on Barton’s, but he didn’t let go. 

“Good thing I wore the steel toes,” Barton muttered and carefully dropped to his knees, forcing her to sit on the ground, legs splayed out in front of her. Steve also dropped to his knees and repeated her name over and over, hands on her legs to keep her from trying to kick him. 

Gradually, something like sanity began to return to her eyes as she began to realize her position and the screams stopped pouring forth. Steve lifted his hands from her legs and held them up before her, showing her that he had no weapon. She drew several ragged breaths and then slumped on the ground. Barton released her, rising up to one knee and moving to put himself between her and the body on the floor. 

“Rebecca, right?” Steve asked, “Your name is Rebecca?”

She nodded, tears on her cheeks, but her eyes bright and defiant. “Y-yeah . . . Rebecca Barnes. But everyone calls me Rikki” Steve nodded, though it felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. Barnes. Oh Lord.

“All right . . ah . . . Rikki. I know you’re upset—“

“Upset?” Rikki bounced to her feet. ”Yeah, I’m upset. I want to look the son of a bitch who did this in the eye and kick him so hard his grandpa is sterile.” Brown eyes flashed fire.

“In this case, that might work,” Barton muttered. 

Steve nodded. “Well, he’s not here, and there’s some people downstairs who’ll want to talk to you, so let’s start there.” He turned to the door. “Um, it’s not pretty out there. You may not want to look.” He picked up his shield and attached it to the hooks on the back of his uniform.

Rikki’s defiant expression wavered and then hardened again. “Yeah. Is . . . Is there anyone else?”

Steve shook his head. “Just you.”

She inhaled deeply and then raised her chin. “Okay.” Without looking around, she walked towards the door.

“You okay, Cap?” Barton asked.

“Yeah. She just . . . she reminds of Bucky a bit. And the last name. Barnes.”

“Yeah, that would do it.” Barton touched his com as they entered into the main room. “Nat, Coulson. We found a survivor. Bringing her down now . . . You know those secret room things? Yeah, behind a bookcase —“

Steve couldn’t have said what warned him. Maybe it was his hearing, maybe it was instinct honed on the battlefield, but whatever it was, he grabbed Barton and yanked him down and to the side as a bolt of energy flashed through the space where the archer had been and burned a hole in the carpet. Tucking and rolling, Steve came to his feet with his shield in a guard position. 

“Hostile Contact! Unit Six One Two!” Barton was yelling. “Hostile Contact!”

Movement. Steve shifted, and there was a bright flash of energy against his shield and Steve raised his head. Above the entrance to the bedrooms was a a sort of loft. Plants lined the edges and crouching there was a man. Thin seemed to be the operative descriptor. Pale face with a shock of white blond hair that stood up from his head. His pupils were mere pinpricks while his wide grin looked more like something out of a comic book. He was clad in green tactical armor and one hand held some kind of pistol. 

“Kron,” Steve breathed.

“I am,” the man agreed.

“At least Mike was right,” Barton said, “mad dog.”

Kron’s face flashed over into rage. “He told you? He told you about me?” Then the smile returned. “But then, that won’t matter.” He settled his gaze on Steve. “Once you die, none of it will matter. Then there will only be the truth.”

“Truth this,” Barton muttered, loosing an arrow and Kron dodged, dropping to the floor. Steve stuck out his hand, keeping Barton from shooting again. Over the com, he could hear the terse chatter as Natasha led a team towards them and Coulson organized containment. 

“What truth?” Steve asked, trying to buy time. 

“Heads up, Cap,” Natasha said into the com. “Twelve man to your position, 30 seconds, NYPD Swat in two minutes. Shield reinforcements in six.”

“The truth of family.” Kron spread his hand, indicating the bodies. “I have saved them. I know what they do.” Pupils contracted even more. “I know what families do in the dark.” He made a noise too twisted to be a giggle. “You . . . came back . . . then you gave . . . him that hammer. Now there’s no hammer. NOW DIE!” He began shooting. 

Steve’s shield was already moving to block the shot before Kron had started yelling, even as he moved froward, hitting Kron shield first and sending him flying back before moving to the side to allow Barton to fire some arrows, but they only bounced off Kron’s outfit. 

“Coulson wants him alive,” Barton muttered over the com at Steve’s questioning look.

“Down!” Natasha barked as she rolled into the room, Shield agents behind her and Steve dropped to the carpet as they opened fire. Natasha rolled up to rest on her knees and her hands were full of gun. 

But not just ordinary guns. These were Tony Stark created .45 semi-automatics with almost no recoil and had the weight of .38. In the hands of most people, they were simply deadly. Natasha Romanov was not most people and the room filled with a roar of gunfire.

“Cease fire!” someone shouted. 

Kron giggled and Steve raised his head. 

In the middle of the room, Kron crouched behind some kind of round energy shield projected from his left wrist. “Is that all?” He asked, rising, the shield flickering off. 

“No,” Natasha replied and dropped her guns as she charged.

And Kron went to meet her in a tangle of punches, blocks, and kicks before they broke apart, both tumbling in opposite directions. Almost immediately, Rikki bounded past Steve, dropping to the ground as one leg swept out fast enough to actually whistle through the air. Kron hopped over it, but Rikki wasn’t done yet as she spun up onto her hands, foot connecting with his collarbone. Even as Kron staggered back, Rikki was already on her feet, hands snapping out in a series of jabs. She was fast and light on her feet, never stationary, always moving.

“Capoeira,” Barton muttered. “Kid’s got teeth.” 

Steve tossed aside his shield, then his helmet. His eyes were nothing more than slits as he drew back and slammed his fist into Kron’s face. As though planned, Rikki danced away, moving to Kron’s other side, and planted her foot in his kidney, shoving him towards Steve. who punched him again.

“They fight well together,” Natasha noted, crossing her arms. 

Barton clicked his bow, feeling the quiver whirr as he changed out his arrowheads. “She’s an Amateur.”

“We all had to start somewhere,” Natasha replied. “And Steve needs someone at his side. Maybe that someone is her.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a soldier, Clint. Soldiers don’t fight alone.”

“What does that make the Avengers?” Barton grunted and nocked his arrow. As an ex-soldier himself, Natasha’s comment hit home more than he liked. 

“Point,” Natasha admitted. “Someone to stop him?”

“Maybe. Would you believe her last name is Barnes?”

“Really.” Natasha smiled. “Interesting.”

Barton grunted again and drew, putting himself into that place that most snipers and marksmen couldn’t go without drugs. 

_Time slowed._

_Around him, everything seemed to go into extreme slow-motion. His breathing slowed and the bow in his hand seemed to have no weight. All his senses were alert, his focus narrowing to Kron._

_To his target._

_A grand equation, more sensed than seen, flowed around him. He knew exactly where everything in the room was, where to point his arrow to hit it, and if it was moving, where it would be._

_There._

_He opened his fingers, letting the arrow go._

Time sped up again.

Kron staggered towards Rikki, who shifted on her feet, ready to kick, when the arrow struck him in the chest and exploded into a gray, web like material that covered Kron from his shoulders down to his waist. A second shot bound his legs and he toppled to the floor.

“Ready position!” Natasha snapped, and the tension in the room dialed down to a sort of wary alertness. Nobody was stupid enough to relax, but he was less dangerous now.

“So here’s how it works, Future Man,” Barton said, walking up to Kron and crouching next to him. “You so much as twitch wrong and that skull of your will have more holes in it than the plot of the last Perry Rohdan movie.” Barton grinned. “Now, there’s all sorts of folks who are very interested in your whole family savior bit, but I’m not one of them. Sooo . . .” Barton produced a roll of duct tape and tore a strip off. “This is for—“ he frowned. Kron was grinning. “What’s so funny?”

“You, you shocking primitive.” 

“Clear!” Barton yelled, catapulting himself backwards, turning it into a roll and coming up with his bow drawn and aimed directly at the point between Kron’s eyes, but the webbing had dissolved in a flash of lighting and Kron was charging him. 

“Hold fire!” someone yelled and Barton clicked his bow to its second setting. The string retracted, The bow straightened and he gripped it and swung, striking Kron in the ribs. 

“My ex-wife taught me two things, asshole,” he growled. “One, never buy tequila in Ohio from anyone named Steve, and two, how to staff fight.” in his hand, the bow finished changing to a bo. “And this bo staff was made by Tony Stark.”

As though on cue, Iron Man crashed through the roof, followed by the Hulk.

“What can I say?” Iron Man said, deploying weapons. “I like being fashionably late.”

“Hulk crush future man!” Hulk bellowed, and charged. 

Kron ducked, slipping past Hulk’s swing and throwing what appeared to be a oval shaped towel that wrapped itself around Hulk’s neck and clamped onto his ears. Hulk roared in pain, trying at first to pull the thing off his ears, then off his throat even as he charged Kron again, only to collapse mere inches from Kron and revert back to Bruce who promptly and violently retched. “Vertigo pad,” Kron smiled. “And to think the Knights worshipped you.” 

“Yeah, bored now,” Iron Man said and there was a mad scramble as everyone sought cover, Steve and Barton dragging Banner to cover as the other Shield agents dived into the hallway right before the world filled with noise and light. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Rikki grab his shield and take cover behind it. 

“Ah yes. The great and powerful Iron Man,” Kron rose behind his glowing energy shield. “Like grandfather, like grandson.” 

“Dude. What the hell?” Iron Man demanded. “You are supposed to be a crispy charred corpse.” A pause. “Wait. Grandson? What?”

Kron only snickered and threw some sort of disc at Iron Man. Iron Man tried to bat it away, but it attached itself to his gauntlet, there was a bright blue flash and Iron Man fell over backwards, unmoving. 

“Barnes!” Steve barked, “Get to Iron Man! Make sure he’s still alive.” He, Natasha, and Barton formed a loose circle around Kron, Natasha clicking on her wrist tasers, but there was a still a hole. 

“Ward?” Barton asked as a man stepped in to fill the hole, pulling off his jacket and tie. He was tall and broad, with short black hair. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Bangkok?”

“Agent Sitwell added me to Tac last month.” Ward put on brass knuckles.

“Ward? Grant Ward?” Kron looked like he’d just met a major celebrity. “Oh, you’re one of the fun ones. So much _truth_ spread at your hands.”

The com beeped. “This is Commander Maria Hill. Authorization Delta Delta four six niner. All Shield Agents on scene at the Langford; You have a go for Dead or Alive. Repeat, Dead or Alive is now in effect for the Langford.”

Ward moved, scooping up a table lamp and smashing it over Kron’s head and then following it up with a one two to the face and a knee to the madman’s stomach. He drew back to throw another punch and Kron leapt forward like a cobra striking prey and they all winced as they heard the sound of a shoulder being dislocated and an arm broken.

Barton and Natasha moved in next, but Kron grabbed the staff and used it to wrench Barton around like a club, throwing him into Natasha to send her stumbling away before laying into Barton and Steve felt his temper begin to boil.

As Barton fell, clutching his arm to his side, Steve and Natasha charged, but Kron ducked past them and ran for the door, his gun mowing down agents and his energy shield acting like a sharpened blade, slicing easily through body armor, and severing the occasional limb. By the time Steve and Natasha had arrested their forward momentum and turned around, Kron was out the door. 

“Go!” yelled one of the standing agents. McKeever, Steve thought. “I’ve already called for medical. Get that goddamn son of a bitch!” 

Natasha scooped up her guns and followed Steve out, Steve fervently wishing Thor was there, because they could seriously use his help.

In the hallway, an NYPD SWAT team was waiting for Kron. They were superbly trained, those men, outfitted with the best the police department could offer. 

They were dead before they could get off a shot and Natasha yelled in fury and rage, actually pushing past Steve and following the madman into the stairwell. That was a mistake. 

Since she was a young girl, Natasha Romanov had been trained to be a living weapon, spilling her blood as much as she had spilled that of others. Her beauty was matched only by a keen intellect and superb physical conditioning and for the past nine months she had worked out regularly against both Steve and Thor, pushing her already superb limits against opponents far faster and stronger than she was.

That experience was the only thing that saved her as Kron’s fist came at her face and she moved her head, feeling the brush of his clothing as the wooden wall of the stairwell crunched under the impact and too late, she realized she had run into a trap, one set specifically for her. The stairwell impeded her agility and was too narrow for Steve to flank Kron and force him to split his attention. 

She was effectively alone.

To her credit, her technique was perfect, and her attacks and defenses were flawless, but Kron was born of madness, soaking up hits that should have crippled him and returning them tenfold. She felt bones crack and blood vessels split. 

“NATASHA!” Steve yelled, feet pounding down the stairs, but he was so, so far away. She was almost floating and then, the darkness. 

Steve stood there, frozen. “You . . . you . . .”

Kron laughed. “Now you see, Captain, now you understand. Your family has only brought you pain. and you, the man out of time, brought them pain in return. Now, you are free. You are all free.”

“No, I don’t see,” Steve replied. Red pounded at the edge of his vision. “I was always free, so were they. You’re nothing but a murderer. A degenerate common garden variety killer. You’re no savior, no voice of truth; you’re just a child.”

Kron’s face twisted in rage and Steve made to move. They were far enough down the stairs that he could vault over the railing to the next set of stairs and then jump back behind Kron before he could require Steve as a target. 

“INCOMING!” someone yelled. 

Steve turned and then ducked as Rikki, riding his shield as though it was a snowboard, came rocketing down the stairs, flying over his head, and landing on Kron’s face shield first to the sound of broken bone and cartilage. Even as Kron was falling backwards, Rikki was in the air, flipping and twisting to land on the railing, waving her arms slightly to maintain balance. Almost lightly, she hopped off the railing and landed on Kron’s sternum.

“Shockin’—“ Kron’s curse was cut off as Rikki’s foot snapped out, striking him him across the jaw. Steve saw the madman’s eyes roll back in his head as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

As Steve knelt to tie Kron’s hands and feet, Rikki walked a few steps away and then sank down against the wall, tears in her eyes. 

“You okay, there?” Steve asked. The wire he was using to tie up Kron was rated for someone on Thor’s level, so it was unlikely that Kron would be able to break free or zap his way out. Still, he was careful to tie Kron’s forearms together so that even if he got out of the handcuffs, he’d wouldn’t be able to use his arms. He did the same to Kron’s ankles, shins, and thighs.

“I need three things,” Rikki replied. “Video because I have no idea how I pulled that off, my boyfriend, and the number of a really, really good therapist.” She swiped at her eyes, “and right now I would trade all of that to have my parents back.”

“That’s natural,” Steve replied as a Shield med team stormed up the stairs towards Natasha.

“At least I took him down, right?” Rikki asked, her voice hovering just short of being ragged sobs. “That’s probably the only reason I’ll be able to sleep tonight. If I sleep.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, you will,” he said quietly, thinking of Bucky, and the aftermath. “You’ll sleep. It won’t be easy, but you’ll sleep.”

“Yeah,” Rikki agreed, but it was clear she didn’t really believe him.

—————————

Rachel Leighton swore as the circuit sparked and she jerked her hand back, nearly dropping the soldering iron. 

“Problem?” Cleo Nefertiti asked, leaning over Rachel’s shoulder. 

“I can’t get the new memory to seat,” Rachel said, pushing the magnifying goggles up onto her head and putting on her glasses before leaning closer to the small diamond shaped electronic device. “Gah! First time in months I get the chance to work on my own equipment, do some actual upgrades, and this happens.” She wiped the iron’s tip on the sponge and slipped it into the holder. “I’m going up top for a smoke.” She reached over to the side of the lab bench and grabbed an oversized shirt which slipped neatly over the pink and black kevlar and leather suit she wore. “You wanna come?”

“Sure,” Cleo said, and went to find her own shirt. 

A few minutes later, they were on the roof of the building that was over their underground headquarters and Cleo set down a cigar box, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. She poured the whiskey while Rachel cut the cigars, and there was a comfortable silence as they perched on an HVAC unit, cigars in one hand and the alcohol in the other. 

“It isn’t just the gear, Rach,” Cleo said at last. “Something’s been eating at you for a month now, probably more, and you’ve been crabby since this morning. Is it that guy you met? Because Tanya and I . . .”

“No, its not that.” Rachel looked at the cigar in her hand, studying the evenness of the burn. “Not   
entirely. It’s . . . I’m tired, Cleo. Tired of the life. Tired of . . .” She took a drag on the cigar followed by a gulp of whiskey because the words stuck in her throat. “I don’t know if I want to be Diamondback anymore.”

“And if you quit, then what?” Cleo asked. 

“I don’t know! Paint, maybe. See more musicals on Broadway, anything.”

“Like meet a guy, settle down, have a few babies?”

“That’s Tanya,” Rachel retorted. “But yeah, having someone would be good.”

“Sounds like that guy had an effect on you,” Cleo smiled and refilled their whiskeys. 

“There’s a spark, yeah,” Rachel admitted. “Okay, a big spark. But Steve’s an oversized boy scout and Diamondback could be a deal breaker for him.”

“If you get that far,” Cleo clarified. 

“Obviously, but it’s something I need to think about now instead of later. Or should.”

“Yeah, that’s smart I guess.” Cleo held up her glass, watching the light pass through the liquid. “It’s Crossbones, isn’t it?”

Rachel looked at her, then at the roof, and then nodded. “Ever since he showed up, forced Sidewinder out and took over, it hasn’t been the same. The Serpent Society is changing and I’ve got this feeling between my shoulder blades like there’s a knife already there.”

Cleo looked at her, mouth in a thin line. “You’re not alone. We’re turning into some kind of Assassin’s guild and I’m worried about what that means for the Society’s future.”

“So what do we do?” Rachel asked. “Something’s gonna give, Cleo.”

“I don’t know, Rach, I really don’t.”

———————————

It was sunset. 

Grant Ward shifted his arm in the sling, and stared out over the city. The discomfort was of no particular concern, both because he had been trained to ignore it, and because Shield had very efficient painkillers.

“Something wrong, Ward?” Jasper Sitwell asked, joining him.

“Kron knew my name, knew who I was. It means I’m in the history books and I don’t know if I like that.”

“Hm,” Sitwell nodded. “On the other hand, Ward, history is written by the winners and that bodes well for us,” He patted Ward on his good shoulder. “Get some sleep, Ward. Rest.” With that, Sitwell walked away.

Ward looked out over the city, watching as a bird flew by and his eyes tracked it for a moment before returning to the forest of glass and steel below.

Sitwell was right; winners wrote the history book and Grant Ward was a winner. He watched the lights of the city began to come on and his smile was ugly and arrogant. 

First, Hydra, then Shield, and then the world. It was good to be on the right side. 

The side of the Secret Empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:
> 
> You know, I honestly think the Langford scene is the longest scene I’ve ever written. I feel almost like it’s one of those scenes in a movie with no cuts, just the camera moving all over the place.
> 
> While no one’s asked, and its pretty self-evident, I want to state outright (For my fellow TV Tropes addicts, I’m invoking Word Of God: Fanfic Edition) that this fic largely ignores canon established in MCU Phase two (Iron Man 3 and onwards), especially given the events of Cap 2. While that doesn’t rule out certain elements or characters popping up, I’m following my own road. Whee!
> 
> Suffice it to say, the hobo is a sculptor and his choice of medium violates multiple Health and Safety laws.
> 
> Rebecca “Rikki” Barnes was Steve’s partner during the Heroes Reborn saga. Whether or not she will take on that role here remains to be seen. You are free to imagine me secretively smiling like Xelloss from Slayers if you so wish . . . oh who am I kidding? Yeah, she’s gonna be Steve’s partner.
> 
> Perry Rhodan is a series of science fiction type pulp novels that have been in production for a good sixty years with no sign of stopping. In this universe, there is also a series of movies a la James Bond. Some are good, some not so much, and the most recent one was so bad it made Manos: Hands of Fate look good. The sub-plot that blatantly ripped off the Ninja Turtles probably didn’t help.
> 
> Recall that in the Avengers, Clint used his bow as a melee weapon twice. Once against Natasha on the Helicarrier, and again during the Chitauri attack when he was out of arrows. It not only makes sense to me that Tony would upgrade everyone’s costumes and equipment, but the sheer pun of a bow that could become a bo staff would be something he would feel compelled to create. 
> 
> A Marvel wiki noted that Diamondback/Rachel was seen smoking cigars on several occasions. Given Steve’s pipe (chapter 4), which was actually comics canon way back in the day before smoking became unfashionable, it seems like a good complementary vice. Also, I love me a good old fashioned “Dating Catwoman” trope.
> 
> The Secret Empire was mentioned back in chapter 5. In the comics, it was responsible for Steve Rogers being disillusioned and taking on the role of Nomad, wearing what easily qualifies as the dumbest costume ever short of just about anything designed by Rob Liefeld. 
> 
> I have so many ideas for this ‘verse, you don’t even know. 
> 
> So many ideas . . .


	10. Meanwhile, in Asgard

He thought he knew everything that had been done to him, but he was wrong. There was a hole in his mind, a tiny thread that stretched across the cosmos, connecting and binding him to . . . to . . .

“Asgardian . . .” The voice hissed in his ears and brain.

The fear wasn’t his own, he knew that, but it still crawled inside him like a worm, wrapping around his brain, slowing his mind, and clenching his heart in ice colder than any Joutunhiem winter.

As though from an invisible door, the one known simply as The Other stepped into view. The creature wasn’t actually present, he knew that, but that damnable thread in his mind made The Other real and the terror grew.

“This is getting tiresome,” Loki forced out.

Pain lashed through Loki, torment impaling body and mind in sheer agony, throwing Loki against the walls of his cell and beating him in white hot fire. “You have failed Him, Asgardian,” The Other said, a sadistic smile on his face. “You were warned of the consequences.” Loki was jerked to his feet. “This is but a taste. When He comes, this will seem like little more than a pleasant nap.”

“And who is your Master?” came a voice.

Loki and The Other looked up and saw Frigga, hands clasped at her waist. She was dressed as Loki had last seen her, three days ago, though there was an amulet around her neck that he’d never seen before. It appeared to be made of bronze, with a single closed eye engraved into it’s surface and somehow, with absolute certainty, Loki knew that he never wanted that eye open and looking at him.

“You are not fit to hear his name, Female,” The Other sneered.

“Say his name,” Frigga ordered. Her voice carried no threat, yet it was velvet whispering over steel. “It took us a while to find the crack in our defenses you’re using, even longer to find the link you’re using to torment my son.”

“Your son? He is a foundling Odin forced you raise in order to feed his ambitions.”

“Is that what Baradin told you?” Fridge asked. “Oh yes. We know about him. We know about the cult he set up — the Lady Sif was very happy to lead our warriors against them . . . and happier still to see them hung at the gallows.” She stopped in front of The Other. “Your Master. Name him.”

“You can do nothing to me, Little Queen, yet I can do everything to him.” A fresh jolt of agony crashed through Loki’s body and he screamed, his voice hoarse and echoing off the cell walls. “You, and Asgard will fall when He comes.”

“No, I think not.” Frigga’s hands shot out and grasped The Other by his robe as though he was physically present.

"What is this?" The Other gasped. "This is not possible! You cannot—"

Frigga’s lips turned upwards in a death’s head smile. “Cannot? CANNOT? I am the Sorceress Supreme of Asgard! I stand at the side of Odin the All-Father as his wife, his partner, his queen and mother to Thor, Loki, and Baldur.” She pulled and Loki actually felt the wrench in Time and Space as  The Other was yanked across the cosmos to be physically present in the cell, in Asgard. _**“I am Frigga of Asgard, Worm, and there is nothing I cannot do had I cause.**_ ” She let The Other fall to his knees, hands still fisted in his robe as she loomed over him. Her voice had taken on a strange timbre and was layered with harmonics Loki had never heard before. **_“Speak his name.”_**

Around Frigga’s neck the amulet opened its eye, bathing the room in a strange light and Loki cried out as the connection to The Other snapped. Then, in his mind, other things snapped and broke, letting loose emotions and thoughts Loki didn’t even know were there and he cried out again.

None of that compared to the scream of The Other, though.

 _ **“Name him**_.” Frigga’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet seemed to pound into their ears. _**“Name him.”**_

_“Thanos!”_

—————————————

“Thanos?” Fandral snorted. “Never heard of him.”

“He is sometimes known as the Mad Titan,” Volstagg replied. “It is said that he stands equal to the Devourer in power, and that even the First Ones fear his might.”

“He sounds like a fairy tale to frighten children,” Fandral said.

“He is no tale.” Volstagg drank deep from his wine cup and there was a haunted look in his eyes. “I was only a boy, but I was there when he was driven into the Broken Void and imprisoned.” The big man shook. “If there was ever such a thing as evil, it is he.”

“Then what do we do?” Sif asked. “If he comes against Asgard, what hope do we have?”

“We have all the hope,” Frigga told them, entering the room. “We are Aesir, the Third Race and the guardians of the mortal worlds. When Malekith and his followers sought to return the universe to darkness, they died on our swords. When Surtur sought to burn the Nine Realms, we drove him back. When Zelion sent forth Union from Narcission to sow chaos, it was Asgard that cast the creature into the fires of Muspelhiem, where it burns eternal.” She looked around the room. “If Thanos seeks to test our might, he will join Union in Muspelhiem’s flames.”

“Yes!” Fandral cheered, rising to his feet and brandishing his sword, only to have Sif bump his arm and glare.

“That leaves the question of Loki,” Hogun said. “Is he responsible for his actions?”

“That must be determined.” Frigga replied. “The Allfather has agreed to abide by a trial by the Sorcerer’s Council under Master Phen of the Vanir. Hogun, travel to Midgard. Bring back Thor and any account of Loki’s actions while he was there.” Hogun nodded and left the room. “The rest of you are to make preparations, you will be called to testify.”

————————————————

“You were right. I should have told you.”

Loki looked up to see Odin standing in the doorway to the garden. Since the revelation that Loki may or may not have been under someone else’s control, he had been removed from the prison and placed under house arrest, unable to leave the walls of the castle. His magic had been bound and sealed, and a guard shadowed his steps.

Still, Loki was no longer sure if he wanted even this. The chaos, the destruction, the pain and death that he had left in his wake . . . and part of him longed to do it all again. Who was he? Who was Loki? Was he Laufeyson . . or Odinson?

“May I sit?” Odin asked, gesturing at the bench. Anger that at once was his and something else boiled and rolled within him and he jumped, startled at its fierceness, but whereas once he would have let it take him, now he held it in his grasp.

“Y-yes,” he forced out.

“You are right to be angry,” Odin told him, sitting down. “More right than I have ever had. I cannot change the past, Loki, but, I can tell you why. But, you must listen. Will you hear me for five minutes? That is all I ask and then, if you wish it, I’ll not come to you again.”

“I will listen,” Loki said.

Odin nodded. “I have told you that a good ruler must have a reason for everything they do. So it was when I found you in the ruins of Laufey’s castle; I could not leave you to die. There was so much blood spilled that day, I could not, would not, let one more be on my hands.”

“So you took me. Out of guilt,” Loki finished flatly.

“You said you would listen,” Odin reminded him. “Yes, I did feel guilty. But, when we had returned to Asgard and I was contemplating your fate, I noticed your clan markings and realized who you were, who you could be. I had a glamour placed on you and raised you alongside Thor for the purpose of binding you to Asgard, and through you, the Jotuns. I had hoped that with a king friendly to Asgard on the Frozen Throne, that there would at last be peace between our peoples.”

It was clever. Diabolically clever. Except . . . “You stopped my lessons, pushed me away.”

Odin looked down at his hands. “Frigga was on Alfhiem with Baldur, a diplomatic visit, and so it was the three of us. That night, just before bed, you came to me, happy and excited that you had mastered yet another spell and began to tell me about it. Oh, Loki, you were so happy, happier than you ever were at my lessons and I realized that you were not both my son and a piece on the chessboard, you were, simply, my son and I couldn’t sacrifice both of you to the the throne.”

“Sacrifice?” Loki repeated. “I . . . don’t understand.”

Odin nodded. “There must always be an Allfather. Man or woman, the throne of Asgard cannot be left vacant. Thor will be bound to it, as was my father and his father before him and such will be the fate of Thor’s children and their children until the time of Ragnarok comes again. This, Loki, is true of any kingdom.”

“Even Joutunhiem.”

Yes, even Joutunhiem. A king is ultimately a servant of the people, Loki. It is a burden, and a sacrifice, albeit a necessary one. You are many things, Loki, but a servant is not one of them. A crown would ill suit you.”

“It also ill suits Thor,” Loki replied, unable to stop himself. “He has pledged himself to the humans.”

“Perhaps,” Odin said and then chuckled. “Your mother has suggested I name Sif as my heir.”

Loki blinked and then he too, chuckled at the thought of Allfather Sif. “That would be . . . different.”

“That it would.” For a moment, they stared out at the garden and then Odin spoke again. “Loki, your fate is in the hands of the Sorcerer’s Council. There is nothing Frigga or I can do. Whatever their judgement, we are bound to abide by it.” He rose. “All I can do, Loki, is wish you luck. Luck, my son.” With that, he left.

Loki resumed his study of the garden? Luck?

Perhaps.

The question was, given what he had done, would it be luckier to be spared, or to be executed?

Still . . . he could work with that.

————————————————

It was unlike Shang to be this late, Frigga thought. The ancient Midgardian’s sense of duty rivaled Heimdall’s, and she was beginning to wonder if something was wrong.

At that moment, the doors to the council chamber opened and a servant entered. “His Lordship the Sorcerer Supreme of Midgard!”

Through the doors came a man dressed in the blue and red of the Sorcerer’s Council, his cloak waving gently with the wind of his passage. He was handsome, with a simple mustache, hair black as midnight and gloved hands. The Midgardian Eye was visible around his neck. He was also not Shang.

“I apologize for my lateness,” he said, “I didn’t recognize the summons at first.”

“Where’s Shang?” Phen demanded.

Strange blinked. “Shang? Was that—“ He broke off. “Shang is dead,” he said simply. “I am Stephen Strange.”

Frigga examined Strange’s Eye with her own. It was indeed the Midgardian Eye around Strange’s neck, and it hung there willingly. “Welcome to Asgard, Stephen Strange,” she said warmly. “Master Shang was a valued member of this body. I have no doubt you will be as well.”

“I would hope so,” Strange replied. “I ask your forgiveness, but he never mentioned any Council and I am a little confused.”

Frigga studied Strange. He seemed calm, but under it was definite tension. What was the Midgardian expression Thor had brought back with him? A fish out of water. “For now, know that the people in this room are your peers and we bid you welcome to Asgard.”

Strange jerked in shock and then recovered. She could see his mind whirling behind his eyes and her confusion deepened. Strange was clearly little more than an half-trained apprentice. His aura was raw with power, as though his training had been entirely about combat and power with little or nothing about a Sorcerer’s duties. That was completely unlike Shang as well.

Something was very, very wrong.

——————————————————

Stephen Strange was a genius, and even if he hadn’t been one, a rock could tell that something was wrong. The council’s reaction to his arrival alone spoke volumes. Sh—The Ancient One— no, the man’s name was Shang — clearly hadn’t told anyone about the ascension of one Stephen Strange and until the summons, Strange hadn’t even known there were other Sorcerers, other Eyes and, now, here he was, in Asgard.

It also occurred to him that he needed to see if there had been any other messages he’d received as he hadn’t even recognized the summons for what it was until Wong had returned from the shopping and spotted it. Now, he had a whole new set of questions, since it was clear Shang had spent the past ten years teaching him only what he’d absolutely needed to know and nothing else.

Answers, he decided, he needed answers . . . hell, he needed questions to ask, ones which wouldn’t make him seem like a complete idiot.

The question of the questions served to occupy the part of his mind that wasn’t focused on the trial until they took a break for a meal when it took over everything, pushing the trial down and out of the way. He wasn’t particularly concerned, knowing that he could recall it all later at will, and followed the other Sorcerers out of the room and down the hall to a much bigger room where a central table nearly bent under the weight of so much food and Strange was startled to realize how hungry he was, but nevertheless, selected what he felt was a light lunch before carrying it over to the windows that offered a commanding view of Asgard. Wryly, he reflected that the descriptions of Asgard in Norse myth seemed to have gotten more than a few things wrong.

Sitting down in the chair, he watched the sunlight play off the golden buildings, letting his thoughts sift and mix as the sound of conversation rolled over him.

“Stephen Strange, may I join you?”

Strange looked up to see Frigga and then rose to his feet, ‘Your highness, I would be honored.”

“Please, we are colleagues, Stephen Strange, call me Frigga, or if you must, Lady Frigga.”

“I’m afraid I must,” Strange replied, sitting only when she did.

She inclined her head and steepled her fingers. “I do not accuse you, Stephen Strange. An Eye of Agamatto does not allow itself to be stolen, but your elevation is . . . unexpected. Shang’s apprentice was named Mordo, last we heard.”

Strange inhaled. “Ah yes.” He sighed. “Mordo . . .” He rubbed his face with his gloved hands and saw Frigga look at them curiously. Lowering his hands, he looked at them. “I suppose these are the best place to begin.” With that, he tugged off one glove and held out his hand.

“By the Void!” Frigga gasped and gently reached out to take Strange’s hand in her own. Scars and lacerations criss-crossed the hand, fingers subtly twisted, and she could feel the bones and muscles were . . . unaligned. As ran her thumb over one scar, she felt the hand tremble of its own volition, beyond Strange’s control.

“I was very young when I chose to be a healer, simply because I sought the challenge. It wasn’t about the rewards of helping people, it was arrogance, and as my skills grew, greed. My family is rich, but I amassed a considerable fortune of my own and a great deal of glory. I had it all, and then . . . there was an accident. I still could have healed, I realize that now, but at the time, all I could see was that I was no longer the man I was. I had been . . . lessened, and I could not accept that. So I began chasing cures, spending money like water, submitting myself to anything, in the hopes that I could get my hands back to what they were. First my fortune was drained, then my family’s, until I had nothing left.”

Frigga released his hand, and Strange pulled his glove back on. “Is that when Shang came to you?”

Strange nodded. “I had nothing left. No job, no money, and my friends had turned their back on me and my obsession. I had planned to jump into the river and be done with it, but then Wong was there. He offered me a map and promised that I would find my cure and then walked away.” He shook his head. “I still don’t know why I went.”

“And Mordo?”

“Mordo saw me as a rival and an obstacle, he had been practicing Dark Magic in secret, summoning a creature called Dormammu—“ Frigga gasped. “You know of him.”

“Yes. I knew Mordo desired power, but to go that far . . .”

Strange nodded. “Shang expelled Mordo and fought Dormammu, battling him back to whatever realm he came from, but at a cost, though he kept it from me even as he taught me magic. I give you my word, Lady Frigga, when I discovered he was dying, I did all I could. His last act was to pass me the Eye.”

“I do not doubt you, Stephen Strange, and much is now made clear.” Frigga sighed. “What were you told about the Eye?”

“Only that is was very powerful and that was never to be allowed to fall into the hands of evil.”

Frigga nodded. “Very well. There will be time for a more detailed explanation in the future, but to put it simply, our universe is one of the three children of a being named Agamatto the Observer, who is one of the Vishanti. When the universe came into being, Agamatto divided it into Nine Realms, and to keep it safe from creatures like Dormammu, he used seven of his eyes to make these Amulets, pouring into them his compassion, his strength, and his will to protect and defend against Evil. The eyes were given to the greatest wizard of each realm save for the realm of the dead, and the realm of fire, where even Dormammu fears to tread, less he burn in Muspelhiem’s flames. As the Sorcerers Supreme, we are the Gatekeepers of this universe, and we must also oversee the use of magic, Normally, we would not convene for a trial, but Loki is my son and a prince of Asgard, and as you have heard, his actions have endangered three of the realms, and brought us almost to war.”

Strange nodded. “He never mentioned any of this.”

Frigga shook her head. “I knew Shang for most of his life. If he knew he was dying, then he would have been ruthless in what he taught you.” She sighed. “It is easier to create a soldier than it is to create a noble who is a warrior.”

“In other words, he expected the Council to finish his sculpture and smooth out the rough edges,” Strange said dryly.

“Precisely.” Frigga leaned back in her seat. “It is not the first time something like this has happened, but usually, we are told ahead of time. I can’t imagine why he never said anything.” She sighed and shook her head. “But so be it. When this is over, I invite you to stay here for a while. We shall speak more of the Eye and other matters.” She rose and Strange followed suit. With a nod of her head, she waked away.

Sitting back down, Strange picked at his food, but there was a smile on his face. Perhaps he wasn’t as far out of his depth as he thought.

—————————————

On the third day of the trial, The Other was brought into the room in chains and under full guard where he was sat on a stool and left there.

“Name yourself,” Phen commanded.

“It is known as The Other.”

“That is a title, not a name.”

“It does not need a name.”

Glances were exchanged around the room and Strange leaned forward, eyes intent.

“Then speak of Loki of Asgard.” Frigga’s tone was unmistakably a command.

From there, it all came out, the Other almost delighting in how Thanos had manipulated Asgard and Jotunheim to war and how Loki had been under Thanos’ influence since he was a child. The near destruction of Jotunheim had been an unexpected prize, as had Loki winding up at Thanos’ feet after his fall.

Following that, Thor testified, first about the events in the town of Puente Antiguo, then being sent to Earth to retrieve Loki and battling the Chitauri.

“And then we came here,” Thor finished. “Loki was imprisoned and I returned to Earth to see to its protection.”

At that moment, the doors banged open and a guard burst in, chest heaving. “Great sorcerers! I bring word from Hiemdall! A Celestial approaches!”

“What?” Phen exclaimed.

At that moment the room seemed to shift in ways Strange could not explain, and then a presence filled the room, coalescing into a green armored giant.

I AM JEMIAH, I HAVE BEEN SENT TO SPEAK.

“Gladly we will hear the words of the First Ones,” Phen said. He and Frigga looked at each other helplessly.

ALL IN THE UNIVERSE HAS A PURPOSE. THE ONE CALLED LOKI HAS NOT COMPLETED HIS. THOSE ARE THE WORDS OF THE ONE ABOVE ALL.

With that, the giant turned away, and the room was back to normal.

————————————————

“Well, we can’t kill him,” Sian, the Sorcerer Supreme of Alfhiem said dryly.

The other Sorcerers nodded. They had retired to an antechamber following Jemiah’s visit to deliberate.

“Loki cannot be left to go free either,” said Tyros of Jotunheim. “For what has been done to my world alone, much less Earth, a price must be paid.”

“It is unlikely his purpose can be accomplished from a jail cell either,” Sian pointed out. “Though it would help if we knew what that purpose was.”

“Bloody Celestials never tellin’ nobody a damn thing,” grumbled the Dwarven Sorcerer. For the life of him, Strange could not remember his name.

“That’s the heart of the matter,” Sian pointed out. “Whatever Loki’s purpose is, it’s important enough that the Celestials felt compelled to step in, can we agree on that?” Everyone nodded. “Then what do we do? He must be punished, but we can’t execute him.”

“What say you, Stephen Strange?” Frigga asked.

Strange blinked at her, surprised, but it only lasted a moment. “I . . . Loki was under Thanos’ influence, but he could have resisted? I mean, he wasn’t controlled, just influenced, right?” Everyone nodded. “Executing him wouldn’t bring back the dead, so there’s no point.”

“My people suffered, died, and even now are laboring to much as survive!” Tyros bellowed. “There must be recompense!”

“Let the human speak, Tyros,” Phen said quietly.

Strange nodded his thanks. “Nothing can bring back the dead, and as for Jotunheim itself . . . Loki is a sorcerer, put him to work restoring what was lost. Strip him of his titles, channel and confine his magic and send him to aid in the rebuilding efforts. Make him eat, sleep, and work alongside those he would have destroyed. Let him see the Jotuns as people, not monsters.”

“The lad speaks wisdom,” the dwarf said, stroking his beard. “Aye, me da always said that working the forge will open even a blind man’s eyes to the world.”

Sian nodded. “I agree with Nordin. Though even if this keeps Loki out of mischief, there’s nothing to stop some Jotun from slipping a knife in his ribs some dark night.”

“Watching his back will keep ‘im busy.” Nordin waved a hand dismissively.

“I would prefer blood,” Tyros said, “but I believe King Biros will accept our judgement.” He looked around the room. “But Loki’s safety cannot be guaranteed. We are a . . . direct people.”

“I understand, Tyros,” Frigga said, and she did, though the thought of losing her son made her heart ache. “Is this the judgement of the Council, then?”

Phen looked around the room and seeing no dissent, nodded. “Then Lady Frigga and I will inform the Allfather.”

Strange watched them go and tried to ignore the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

————————————————  
New York City, Earth  
534am . . .

Al’s Coffeeshop occupied the ground floor of an apartment building in the kind of neighborhood you read about, but could never find; the kind where the buildings, and to some degree, the people, were seemingly untouched by time. A payphone still occupied the corner, and a bodega, little more than a hole in the wall of a larger building, seemed to stare at the front window of Al’s like an eye from across the street. Rain sifted down, a late summer shower that promised to be done by morning leaving the streets to shine in the sunlight.

Inside Al’s, three young women worked. With an entrance to the subway almost directly outside, Al’s saw plenty of business once the morning commute started, but for now, it was quiet and they busied themselves setting out pastries, brewing the coffee, and making sure they were organized and ready.

At the register, Sandi Brandenburg looked up when the door chimed signaled and her face fell as she recognized the man in the door. He was squat with muscle and fat and his hair was thinning. Something about him set off every warning alarm Sandi had, especially the way he looked at her. Like she was a thing. He had been coming in almost like clockwork and while she couldn’t prove it, she thought she had seen him at school as well.

“H-hello,” Sandi said. “What can I get you?” She couldn’t quite keep the quaver out of her voice.

“Sandi,” he walked towards her. “Hello, Sandi.”

Sandi leaned away from the counter as far she could without actually looking like she was doing so. “What can I get you?”

“Sandi . . . today I’m going to make you happy. Today, and from now on.”

“Y-you are?”

“Oh yes.”

“Hey, Sandi, the usual.”

Sandi blinked as a one gallon mug appeared in her field of vision and then she followed the arm holding the mug back to the large man who was next in line. “Oh, hello, Mr. Wilson! I didn’t see you come in!” None of the girls really knew much about Mr. Wilson other than he lived in the building, didn’t really like to show his face — as evidenced by the hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap pulled low over his eyes — and that he liked his coffee black, bitter, and by the gallon.

“Yeah, I get that what with Chuckie here staring at you like a piece of meat.” Wilson was a large man and you could see the muscle bulking under his clothes. No one was really sure what he did for a living, but he tipped well and didn’t hit on the staff (well not much, anyways), which made him him a shop favorite. “Or maybe the Stanley Cup. World Cup? A really shiny cup.”

“How did you know my name?” Chuck demanded.

“Oh, you mention it in a few paragraphs, well, dialogue breaks. I’ve been reading ahead.” Wilson waved a sheaf of papers. “And lemme tell ya, you are really not going to like what happens at that point.”

Sandi took the mug and all but ran to the coffee machine.

“So just to move this along,” Wilson continued, “what were you saying about making Sandi happy? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, making her happy would involve setting yourself on fire”

“Shut up,” Chuck snarled. “You don’t know nothin’.”

“I’m pretty sure that was a double negative and given that Brooklyn accent, an insult to the english language. Oh hey, I can recognize accents and abuses of grammar now. Sweet!” Wilson gave the ceiling a thoughtful look,. “Does this mean I have an English degree? Lesee . . . nope. Still don’t understand Hemingway’s appeal.”

Chuck stared at Wilson, then turned back to the counter just as Sandi returned with the gallon of coffee,

“Sandi, we need to go,” He grabbed her wrist. “We need to be in Atlantic City by ten.”

If a sheaf of papers could be said to said to hit the counter ominously, the one in Wilson’t hand did just that as he tossed it on the counter. “Chuck,” Wilson’s voice was icy cold menace, the voice of a killer. “Walk away. Walk away and never come back.”

Chuck had had enough. He released Sandi’s wrist and rounded on Wilson, pulling out a very large bowie knife. “No, You walk away. You walk away. I’m a good guy, a nice guy and I deserve a girlfriend. A wife. Sandi and I are going to Atlantic City, we’ll get married, and she’ll be Mrs Charles Astley and I’ll be happy! I deserve to be happy!’ He swung the knife and almost lazily, Wilson caught his wrist.

“Told you,” whispered the killer, and he twisted, forcing Chuck to drop the knife, which he easily caught and tossed onto the counter next to the papers. With no effort, Wilson lifted Chuck by his wrist, hoisting him up to eye level. “Told you!” With that, he dragged Chuck to the door, and proceeded to drop kick him through the front window, sending hm over the railing of the subway entrance to fall down to the steps below. “Wow!” Wilson exclaimed, the killer gone as though he’d never existed. “Man, did you see how he flew? Hot damn!” He sauntered back to the counter. “You okay?” He asked gently.

Sandi nodded. “Thanks.”

“Wade, why did you put a hole in my front window?” Standing in the doorway was an old woman, her hair sticking up at odd angles, and despite the fact that the sun wasn’t up. she wore a blocky pair of sunglasses. “That’s coming out of your rent.” Althea “Blind Al” Tennyson didn’t just own Al’s Coffee, she owned the whole building. If you listened closely, you could hear that she was British.

“M-My f-fault, Ms Tennyson,” Sandi ventured, setting the gallon mug down. “It was that guy again. Mr. Wilson chased him off.”

“Through the window?”

“You said doors were expensive,” Wilson explained.

Al sighed. “Sandi, if someone is stalking you, it’s _never_ your fault. Wade, I appreciate you standing up for my employees, but now I have to explain to my insurance company why I’m expensing a new window.” She turned to the window, watching a transit cop come up the subway stairs and then turned back. “Bollocks. Wade, take your—“ Wilson, the knife, the papers, and the coffee were gone, there was a twenty on the counter and another in the tip jar. “Arse,” Al muttered.

————————————————  
Author’s Notes:

I thought Frigga should have a badass boast.

The Kree have long claimed to be contemporaries of Asgard, if not the true Third Race, but they’re such narcissists that no one takes this claim seriously. Also, a very young Odin figures greatly in their mythology as the child-god Moden-ell, who was known for a string of unfortunate incidents capped off by a run-in with the Kree equivalent of a bear. He has some rather impressive scars from the incident, but only Frigga is generally in a position to see them and by that point, she has other parts of him on her mind.

The First Race is the Celestials, or the First Ones, second is the Watchers. The Third Race is the Aesir and fourth is the Eternals and their sub faction, The Titans. The exact identity of the Fifth oldest race in the Universe is a matter of debate, though most point to a race referred to simply as “The Ancients”, who were responsible for seeding and terraforming a number of planets as well as constructing a spatial gate network. Some believe that this race is also responsible for the creation of the sentient planet Ego, which is a horrible thing to accuse anyone of doing, much less an entire race.

The reason Shang never told the Council is because he knew the look on Phen’s face would be hilarious. It was also payback for that trip to Vanaheim no one wants to talk about. Or remember.

Deadpool actually has this entire fic printed out, including the parts not written yet. He takes excerpts from it and performs them on slam poetry night at a bar in the West End. Chapter 15 is a hipster favorite.

No surname seems to have been given for Blind Al, so I made one up. Obviously, theirs is a different relationship here than in the comics, since that one gave me the creeps.


End file.
